Rabbit Hole
by writerfanatic2
Summary: The mob offers her a large sum of money to kill Batman, but when experienced hit man Edith Green accepts a better deal from the Joker, she finds herself in a downward spiral of madness and chaos. The scary part? She's enjoying herself.
1. Of Mobsters and Clowns

This is a story idea I have had in my head for a while. Let me know what you think! Reviews greatly appreciated.

I own nothing other than my OC. This story is set during TDK, so you will see a lot of dialogue from the movie.

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><p>They sat in the cold kitchen of the abandoned restaurant, forced together by the one thing they shared in common: their money. The Gotham mob bosses had close to seventy million dollars stolen from the Gotham National Bank; and now, all of their money was missing, as was the one managing it. Lau had contacted them hours earlier, requesting they meet in secret at the location he selected. Stakes were rising in Gotham, with Harvey Dent and Batman scourging through the city criminals. Something had to be done, but no one was thrilled to learn that hundreds of millions of dollars were now gone.<p>

Gambol and his cronies sat opposite of Maroni and Chechen, a sneer plastered over his face as he watched two lackeys bring a TV to the table.

"What the hell is this?" one crony shouted. The TV flickered on, and Lau greeted the angry faces of his clients.

"As you're all aware, one of our deposits was stolen," Lau explained.

"Just by a whack job in a cheap purple suit and make-up," Maroni scoffed. "_He_ is not our concern. Our problem is that our money can be tracked by the cops."

On the TV, Lau nodded. "I was made aware of this by Maroni's sources. All five of our banks have been compromised and the Gotham police, with the help of the new, overly-enthusiastic DA, are on the move to seize your funds."

"So you _took_ our money?" Gambol asked, his voice grating with irritation.

"You have no other options," Lau explained slowly. "I could not wait for your permission. Your money has been moved to a secure location."

Gambol's fists clenched on the table. "_Where_?"

The TV flickered as Lau spoke. "No one can know but me. I have –"

"What stopping police from getting to you?" Chechen asked, his accent thick.

"I have taken a plane to Hong Kong, far from Dent's jurisdiction. Rest assured, your money is safe."

Slow, forced laughter tore the men's eyes from the TV. The Joker swaggered his way into the room and towards the set of tables. His suit was the vibrant purple Maroni had described. His make-up was smeared haphazardly over his features, giving him the appearance of a maniacal clown with a messy red Glasgow smile. Everyone had seen his image on the news; the lunatic hadn't been shy when robbing GNB. He plopped down in a chair that sat across from the TV. His voice was nasally and rehearsed.

"And I thought _my_ jokes were bad."

Gambol's eyes flashed with anger. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my boy here knock your head off?"

The well-dressed lackey stood quickly and made his way over to the clown, ready to do as he was told. The Joker, who had stabbed a pencil into the plastic table, was blabbering about a _magic trick_. When Gambol's man was close, the clown grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his head down onto the pencil, impaling him through his eye socket. When the lackey slumped to the floor, the pencil went with him.

"_Ta-daaa_! It's, _ahhh_, it's _gone_," the Joker whispered, his hands moving with dramatic flair. He looked up and straightened the lapels of coat. "Oh, by the way, this suit wasn't cheap. You oughtta know, you bought it!"

Gambol stood, his chair almost falling over from the force. Chechen stopped him, wanting to hear what the Joker had to say. The clown looked to Gambol expectantly, waiting for the boss to sit down. When he did, the Joker began to crudely explain his radical theories. His lips smacked as he spoke, his tongue darting out to graze the corners of his jagged scars.

"You see, I know why you choose to have your little, hm, _group therapy sessions_, in broad daylight. I know _whyyy_ you're afraid to go out at night." His voice dropped an octave. "The _Bat_man."

As he continued, the mob bosses looked to each other, their confident expressions sinking at the truth of his words. The Batman and Harvey Dent were revealing their weaknesses and bringing attention to their illegal activities. While Harvey Dent was limited to Gotham's jurisdiction, Batman was certainly not.

"He'll find him, and make him _squeal_!" the Joker exclaimed, his finger pointing aggressively at the TV. "I know 'em when. I. See. 'Em."

Chechen leaned back in his chair. "What do you propose?"

The skin of the Joker's scars bunched at the corners of his mouth as his lips stretched upward in a smile. He brushed a strand of acid green hair from his brow. "It's, ah, simple. We _kill _the Batman."

Soft chuckles filled the room.

"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it?" Maroni questioned, his calm voice dripping in mockery.

The Joker's answer was straightforward. "If you're good at something, never do it for free."

And he wanted _half_; half of _all _of their money. The laughter that broke out among the group of criminals was louder this time. Maroni sat back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Your proposal is, well, _tempting_, to say the least," the Italian began with a smile. "But if we want to have the Batman killed, we know a hitman to call. We have someone else, someone much cheaper."

The Joker's brow rose. "Someone else, _hmmmm_?" He shook his head. "No, no, _no_. If we don't handle this _now_, uh, little, _Gambol_, here? Well, he won't have a nickel for his grandma!"

Gambol, who had run out of patience ten minutes ago, exploded. He slammed his palms against the table and rushed to move towards the clown, but the Joker was too quick. He stood with the mob boss, opening the side of his coat and showing off his collection of small explosives that were connected to the string wrapped around his thumb. Gambol stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening at the audacity and insanity of the man in front of him.

"You think you can just steal from us and walk away?" the mobster seethed. With his mind made up, he put a bounty on the lunatic's head, and the Joker took it as his cue to exit. Keeping the inside of his coat visible to the group, he removed his card from one of his pockets and placed it on the table.

"Why don't you _giiive_ me a call when you want to start taking things a little more _seriously_, hm?"

He kept his back to the door as he made his slow exit, waving his thumb and jingling the metal of the explosives he carried. When he was gone, the tension in the room lessened considerably. The group was silent. Gambol remained standing.

It was Maroni who broke the silence, his hands rising in defeat as he spoke. "Now look, everyone, I don't like him, but he makes a good point. The Batman is our biggest threat right now."

"Are you actually considering giving him _half_?" Gambol asked, his temper flaring again.

The Italian laughed. "Come _on_, Gamble, _really_? Of course not. I'm thinking we should call Eddie."

"We haven not needed Eddie in long while," Chechen replied. "You have location?"

Maroni nodded. "I have contact information." He stood and smoothed out the fabric of his expensive suit jacket. Looking to his allies, he continued: "If you pay someone to do your dirty work, my friends, never let them out of your sight."

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><p>His sources had last put Eddie in a small, rural town an hour and a half outside Gotham. Maroni sat in the back seat of his town car, watching as the urban life transformed into dirt fields and yellow, rolling hills. They had passed through downtown ten minutes prior; that is, if you could call a single gas station, a row of small dirty shops, one grocery store, and post office a "downtown." They were now traveling down an unkempt and pothole-filled road, the car bouncing violently. A two-story country house eventually appeared on the horizon, and the driver brought the car to a slow stop outside the property. Maroni exited the car, buttoning the middle button of his pinstriped suit with one hand and waving the dust from his face with the other.<p>

The yard was fairly large and was covered in patchy green and yellow grass. The large sycamore trees on either side of the house were naked, their leaves swept away by autumn winds. At the creaking sound of a screen being opened, Maroni looked to the front door and put on his best smile. The woman who now stood on the porch looked different from what he remembered. She had the same curly, flame-colored hair and her eyes were still the same vibrant blue. It was her face that was different, its shape fuller and filled with color. She now had the curves of a woman her age, as opposed to the body of an adolescent boy.

"I thought I smelled spaghetti," she said coolly, but a faint smile played across her pink lips.

Maroni chuckled. "Is that anyway to greet an old friend, Eddie?"

"I would hardly call you a friend, Maroni, and I go by Edith now," the woman corrected him, folding her arms across her chest. "Why are you here?"

The mob boss motioned towards her house, his eyebrows rising as he asked silently to be let inside. Edith rolled her eyes and moved to enter her house; she closed the screen, but left the door open for him. When he entered, he was struck by the simplicity of the decor. While he understood her need to be out of Gotham, he had pictured her living in some kind of luxury, especially with the amount of money he knew she had earned. He stood in the small entryway; his judging eyes scanning the dingy living room to his right.

"You can have a seat in there," Edith called out as she appeared out of a nearby room. She pointed toward the living room as she approached.

Maroni followed her and slowly took a seat in a soft, worn armchair. He watched as his hostess took a seat on the sofa beside him.

"You had close to half a million dollars, and you chose this rat hole?" he said in disbelief, his eyes grazing across the ceiling. "_Jesus_, what did you do? Shoot most of it up your arm?"

Edith's eyes flashed in anger. "Fuck off, Maroni," she growled bitterly. "Not that it is _any_ of your business, but I've been clean for almost a year. I spent most of _my_ money going in and out of rehabs. I finally got straight, you Italian piece of shit."

Maroni chuckled, forgetting how crass the woman was. It was what he had loved about her and why he had chosen to trust her so long ago. When the crime families joined in alliance, it had taken a lot of convincing on Maroni's part to get the other bosses to accept her. It had taken him years to trust her, and he remembered the day he met the skinny, homeless teenager as if it were yesterday. _Seven years ago, one of his lackeys brought Maroni to a drab alleyway in the Narrows that sat outside one of the popular dive bars. A group of his men had gone to the bar for a drink, but only one had come back. He had followed the lackey into the alley, where the bloodied, lifeless bodies of his men were strewn about. An emaciated, sorry excuse for a human being sat a few feet away, head slouched and body crunched forward. Maroni couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but he knew they were alive as they were shaking violently. Bloody hands gripped an empty gun; arms were covered in bruises and track marks. Maroni grabbed a fist full of messy red hair and forced the woman to look at him. Her blue eyes pierced through him then, just as they were now._

Sinking into the armchair, Maroni leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I have a job for you," he explained. "It's a big job."

"What makes you think I'm even remotely interested?" Edith replied. She leaned back and crossed her shapely legs.

"Come on, Eddie. Don't brush it off without hearing what I have to offer."

The red head pursed her lips. She had spent the last year recovering from the person that Gotham had made of her, and she was stronger now, no longer owned by heroin. She wasn't owned by anyone, for that matter. Not even the mob. She closed her eyes and shook her head at his proposal.

"I don't think –"

"Four million dollars."

Blue eye snapped open. "_What_?"

Maroni gave her a toothy grin. "Four million dollars. One hit. The other bosses are in agreement with the amount."

Edith's jaw was nearly touching the floor. She studied Maroni intently, her lids narrowing. "What's the catch? Who's the hit?"

"You been keeping up with Gotham news?"

"Here and there. Seems like a shit show, as always."

"It's a bigger shit show _now_, Eddie. They're cracking down on us: Gotham PD, the DA, _and_ the Batman. Plus we have this clown causing trouble and stealing our money."

"You want me to kill the Joker?"

"_Nah_," Maroni scoffed, his hand waiving the thought away. "Though Gamble _did_ put a half-mil to a mil bounty on his head if you want a second gig, but I'm talking about Batman."

Edith laughed out loud. "Oh, _of course_!" she exclaimed. "The four million makes _perfect_ sense now."

"Take it or leave it, Eddie," Maroni replied. He stood and moved towards the front door. He turned to the female assassin before stepping outside. "By the look of this place, I would say you need us more than we need you. You know how to reach me."


	2. Try Outs

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Much appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Typical disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC.

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><p><em>Sal Maroni was kneeling on the cold asphalt, his hand gripping the girl by her hair, her angry, glossed-over eyes unblinking as she glared up at him. Five of his men were dead in the alley, each one shot once at close range, and the one responsible was a weak, drug addicted adolescent. No, weak wasn't the right word. His men had all been experienced mobsters, and somehow, the girl had managed to get the upper hand. Maroni narrowed his eyes, the girl's features sharpening in the shadows. <em>

"_What's your name, doll?" he growled. His grip tightened in her knotted hair when she didn't respond._

_She was still shaking, either out of withdrawal or shock. She finally opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead quickly brought her face closer to him. She then proceeded to spit in his face. Maroni scowled and pushed her head back with so much force, it slammed into the brick wall of the bar. She slumped forward instantly, unconscious. He turned to his crony._

"_What the hell happened here, Alonzo?"_

"_We all came out for a smoke," Alonzo replied. "We found the girl sleeping by the dumpster. Tony and Bill started messin' with her. Next thing we know she's got Tony's gun and is going nuts. She moved so fast, boss."_

"_Anyone see this?"_

"_Not sure. Didn't see anyone when I came out of the alley. Gotham PD don't come around this part of the Narrows that often, either."_

_Maroni sighed angrily and looked down at the lifeless body, a sea of red hair hiding her face. "Get this," he motioned to the girl, "to me tonight at the office on 8__th__ and Graham. She'll learn some respect before the night is through."_

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><p>Edith watched as the plume of dust billowed out from behind the town car. When it disappeared around the corner, she let out a breath, unaware that she had even been holding it. That encounter was the last thing she had been expecting.<p>

She hadn't spoken to Maroni or any of the other mob bosses since she had left Gotham. It had taken her one year, four different in-patient rehabs, and multiple relapses, but she was finally clean; she was finally free. After she successfully completed her final rehab program, she used a large chunk of her money to purchase her house and furniture. She had enough money left over to stay unemployed for a few months, but now her funds were running low. She applied to nearby minimum-wage jobs for a source of income, but hadn't heard back.

Running a hand through her tussled mane, Edith massaged her scalp gently in an attempt to quell the ache that was forming beneath her skull. Four million dollars – that was more than quadruple what she made after five or six hits; this was only one, but it was _the_ one. Batman.

It was an absurd notion. The man seemed unstoppable at times and unaffected by bullets, knives, and pain. At the same time, however, that did not make him immortal. If there was one thing Edith Green knew firsthand, it was that everyone bleeds. Everyone dies.

Sal Maroni had given her a rare opportunity when she was fourteen, homeless, alone, and near dead. In a way, he had saved her, but he also never hesitated to use this fact against her. He became the father figure she never had – manipulative and egotistical. He used her, created her to be what he needed, impressed by the audacity and jaded personality of a vulnerable girl that felt no empathy. She had killed before that night in the alley, but Edith doubted that Maroni knew that. The truth was that she did not want to be Eddie anymore. She wanted to pretend that that part of her never existed, but rehab had taught her not to fight her past. She had to accept its existence and only then would it lose its power over her present.

Edith retreated back into the warmth of her home and laid on the soft cushions of her sofa. Going back to Gotham did not mean she would go back to being Eddie; she was stronger, more confident, independent, and _clean_. She knew what her answer would be to Maroni's proposal, but she'd be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of a quick response.

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><p>Charlie stood outside the flimsy wood door that separated him from the boss. He hated being this nervous; fifteen years doing hard time in Black Gate prison and he was scared of a damn clown. <em>Well, at least he's a well-paying clown.<em> At this thought, Charlie hesitantly lifted his fist and knocked on the door. The sound was much louder than he had intended.

"Just a _miiiii_nu-_te_," came a nasally reply. The sound of footsteps made the muscular lackey want to run, and when the door opened, he could almost feel the blood drain from his face.

The Joker stared blankly at the man, his eyes nothing more than black pits of greasepaint and apathy. When Charlie didn't speak, his voice having been caught in his throat, a spark of excitement invaded the clown's eyes.

"Yeeees?" the Joker drawled, holding the door open with gloved hand, "How may I help you, hm, _Charles_?"

Charlie swallowed. "You, uh, ordered me to do some, _recon,_ on the mob families' hit man?"

"_And?_"

"W-Well, his name his Eddie. The tracker we put on the Italian's car put him about one hundred and twenty miles north of Gotham yesterday morning. Around noon today, he got a call from a number with an area code that corresponds to the location."

Damn, Charlie was proud of that report, barely a stutter. His boss chewed on the inside of his scars, the skin puckering awkwardly. It was a habit he did when he was thinking, and Charlie knew from past experience during this habit that you do not interrupt. You keep your mouth shut unless spoken to. Suddenly, the Joker's jaw stopped and the muscles clenched tightly. Charlie watched nervously as black pupils dilated in delight.

"How's my bounty, _hm_?" the Joker asked, his voice low.

"The one Gambol put on you? Word has spread. We've been hearing some half-baked plans," Charlie explained, his eyes drifting down the hall to his right, as if he suspected someone might be listening.

The Joker smiled, his yellow teeth contrasting sharply against his white greasepaint. He quickly moved forward, grabbing Charlie by the sides of his face and forcing him to pay attention. Any remaining blood in the lackey's face instantly retreated. His boss laughed, the sound almost deafening.

"Oh, don't be so neeer_vous_," the clown chided, stroking the lackey's face in mock comfort. "I have a _very_ important job for you."

Charlie was clearly uncomfortable. "Y-Yes, boss?"

"I need you to _kill me_."

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><p>Edith rode the dingy bus bound for Gotham. It was early evening, the sun low sitting low in the sky. She had waited an entire day before finally calling Maroni and accepting his offer. His voice was always slightly monotone, but she could hear the satisfaction when he spoke. In "gratitude", he told her he would set her up in a hotel near downtown Gotham for as long as she needed until the job was complete. Edith knew the Italian well enough to know that was code for: <em>I need to keep tabs on you so I feel I have some control<em>. But it didn't matter, really. She had the freedom to complete a job by whatever means necessary, just as long as it was inconspicuous.

She was watching the scenery outside the bus window when she felt a vibration in her pocket. Taking her cell phone out, she studied the receiving number. It had a Gotham area code, but it wasn't Maroni. Hesitantly, Edith answered.

"Hello?" she said, her voice neutral and barely above a whisper. The bus was far from being full, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself.

"Hey, Eddie. How ya been?"

She recognized Gambol's voice immediately. Apparently, Maroni wasn't shy about her having accepted the mob's offer.

"I'm fine," Edith replied. "What do you need?"

"Ha, well Maroni told me you were coming into town. Glad to have you back. You always brighten up Gotham, babe."

She rolled her eyes at his words, forgetting how incredibly cheap he sounded when he spoke. "Always _so_ charming, but I doubt you simply called me to chat."

"I need to see you," Gambol admitted. "You've been gone for a year, and I'm putting one million into this job. I need to see you for myself and make sure you're not –"

"Covered in track marks and high as a kite? I get it. Where should I meet you?"

"I'll be at my midtown spot tonight on Hoover Ave. See you then."

Edith closed her phone. She always hated the formality of the mob, but for the amount of money they were offering her, she couldn't blame them for being cautious. Turning her eyes back out the window, she suddenly felt exposed. The closer she got to Gotham, the stronger the feeling became. The last time the boys had seen her, it was after the whole "Fear Toxin" episode, and she was near dead from an overdose. Before that point, she had been clean for four months. She couldn't ignore the fear she felt right then: her fear of relapsing.

Closing her eyes, Edith rested her head against the bus window and enjoyed the quiet, her calm before the storm.

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><p>She had forgotten how noisy Gotham was: car horns, police sirens, ambulances, people yelling and swearing at each other for no real reason. Having taken a taxi to midtown, Edith walked hurriedly down the sidewalk towards Hoover Ave with her duffel bag over her shoulder. Her mind and body were on autopilot, muscle memory guiding her to her destination. Gambol's midtown headquarters was nothing more than a basement apartment underneath a deli shop he purchased a while back as a way to launder money. The apartment itself was quite large, fitted with various luxuries like a pool table, bar, and LCD televisions. She descended the small staircase to the apartment door and knocked.<p>

After a few moments, the door cracked open and a tall, dark-skinned man in a tan suit greeted her. He looked at her with confusion, his eyes glancing over her frame. She wore faded-black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel shirt; a wild mane of red hair was pulled into a ponytail, accentuating her high cheekbones.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked after a moment. The woman's blue eyes sparked.

"Green," was all Edith replied with. The man's eyes widened in realization and he opened the door, stepping to the side to let her in.

"I, uh, apologize," he stammered as she entered the apartment. "When the boss said 'Eddie', I assumed he was talkin' 'bout a man."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Edith replied, her eyes surveying the familiar space. Gambol hadn't changed the place at all. The walls, which had at one point been white, were yellowed from years of cigarette smoke. An old-fashioned jukebox sat on the left hand side against the wall, and the sounds of cue sticks and billiard balls could be heard nearby. Edith turned the corner, the lackey close behind her, and Gambol looked up from the pool table. He always dressed sharp – neatly pressed suits, expensive watches and rings. He gave her a half smile and a nod of his head.

"Maroni wasn't joking when he said you looked good," he said, a hint of seduction in his voice. "How long you been clean?"

"About ten months."

He nodded, his lips pursing. Setting his stick on top the pool table, he walked slowly towards her, his hands motioning towards her arms. He gave one single command: "Roll up your sleeves."

Edith sighed, thankful she had worn a shirt that was loose enough for the sleeves to be pulled up. She did as he said, showing him the inside of her arms, which were free of bruises and tracks; the only evidence were old puncture marks from continual use.

"Are you gonna look in between my toes too, _sir_?" Edith asked, her tone feigning submissiveness.

Gambol gave her a toothy grin. "Glad to see you haven't lost your spunk," he said as he turned back to the pool table. "I'll re-rack, if you care to stay."

She shrugged and dropped her duffel bag, not caring one way or the other. She watched as he re-racked the table and caught the pool stick he tossed her way. The two lackeys were in the other room, talking amongst themselves. Edith concentrated as she steadied her cue stick to break the rack. The cracking of the white cue ball as it struck it's mark was an oddly comforting sound.

"Guess you're stripes," she said as she watched a solid-colored ball fall into the left corner pocket. "What's this I hear about you guys getting robbed by a clown?"

"He ain't worth talkin' about," the mob boss growled. He watched as she settled herself into another stance, aiming her cue stick for her next shot.

Edith chuckled. "Bad break-up, I see?"

Before Gambol could retort, his two lackeys hurried into the room.

"Yo, Gambol, there's someone here for you," one of them said with a smile. "They said they just killed the Joker. They brought the body."

Edith instinctively moved to stand against the wall, watching with cautious eyes as five men entered the room. Two carried in a large lump covered in garbage bags, setting it unceremoniously down on the pool table. Gambol approached, an unmistakable excitement in his eyes when he uncovered the Joker's head. Edith could see the profile of the infamous man, his features relaxed and gentle, as if he were sleeping. His scars looked softer in person, less jagged. It was too bad, really; she was considering making the extra money herself.

Gambol smiled and turned to the group of misfit men. "Dead? That's five-hundred."

Edith only took her eyes from the Joker's face when she saw one of the mystery men approach her. With her peripheral vision, she saw the black garbage bags move, and the Joker was suddenly standing, his tall frame looming over Gambol.

"How 'bout _alive_?" the clown crooned.

Distracted, Edith was pushed to her knees and then forced to kneel alongside the other men. She felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to her temple as dirty hands gripped her hair roughly. The Joker held the back of Gambol's neck and pressed a small switchblade pressed into the corner of his mouth. She watched as he spoke about his scars, mesmerized by the way they moved with his lips. His tongue darted out every now and then, an eerie tic that left her both disturbed and excited. She had only ever seen his picture; she had never imagined hearing his voice. She wasn't sure how long she was staring, but the clown suddenly looked over Gambol's shoulder. Their eyes met for the first time, and his smile faded.

His question was calm. "Why so serious?"

Gambol's crony in the tan suit practically screamed when the Joker took the blade and sliced his boss' throat. The boss crumpled to the floor, writhing and gasping for breath. The Joker stood above him, his shoulders somewhat hunched, watching in satisfaction until movement ceased. Only then did he address the room.

"Now," he said, tearing the garbage bags from his body and kicking the plastic from his dirty oxfords. He swaggered around the room before grabbing a nearby pool stick. "Our operation is small, _buuut_ there is a lot of potential for, _aggrrrrressive expansion_," he explained excitedly. He gave the group a wide grin, revealing his yellow teeth. "Which of you gentlemen, or _lady_, would like to join our _team_, hm? Oh, and there's only one opening right now sooo," he brought the wooden pool stick across his knee, snapping it in two, "we're going to have _try outs_."

He dropped the two wooden halves on the floor in front of Edith and the other two hostages. He left the room, ordering them to "make it fast." The Joker's men pushed them to the floor and stood by, waiting for the action to start. Edith stared at the men kneeling in front of her, their expressions fearful and clearly hesitant. Closing her eyes, she forced her breathing into a steady rhythm, concentrating and taking note of where the enemies were in the room. Slowly, her hand reached out and grabbed one of the pool cue halves.

"Eddie."

Her eyes snapped open and she looked to the man in the tan suit. He shook his head, his eyes pleading.

"Hey, you heard the boss!" one of the Joker's men shouted. "Make it fast or we'll make the decision for ya! Get to it!"

He approached, his gun pointed down towards Edith. When he was only a foot away, she quickly flipped the pool stick and shoved its sharpened end up into the man's stomach. She was able to get a good four inches into him before he stumbled back, dropping his gun in the process. Edith did not hesitate to take it. Gamble's men took advantage of the distraction and rushed the others, taking shots in the chest and arms as they struggled for the upper hand. Edith systematically put a bullet in each clown crony's head until there was only one left. The muscular man held up his hands in defeat; he wasn't a fool.

"Drop the gun," Edith ordered, she had her weapon pointed between his eyes. He did as she ordered. "Now, what is your name?" When he didn't reply, she found herself growing irritated. "I said: What. Is. Your. Name."

The man scowled. "Charlie."

"Well, _Charlie_, go tell your boss try outs are over and that unfortunately, his _little team_? Well, they didn't quite make the _cut_."

Charlie quickly retreated, following his boss' steps. When he was out of sight, Edith quickly began to wipe the surfaces she had touched with the hem of her shirt, not wanting to take any chances with the police. Stepping over the now deceased bodies of Gambol's men, she grabbed her duffel bag and hurried towards the stairs that led up into the deli. Although the shop was closed, the door connecting it to the apartment was unlocked. Cautiously, Edith moved towards one of the windows and lifted a piece of the curtain to the side. It was dark, the day having long since passed, but she could see a car idling on the corner, headlights off. Two men were getting out. The hunched over swagger gave the Joker away instantly, and Charlie's features were soon visible as they descended the stairs into the apartment.

Edith immediately unlocked the front door to the deli and bolted. She ran down the now desolate midtown streets until she was out of breath and unable to feel her legs. She took refuge within the shadows of an alley, sitting in the dark as she took out her cell phone, her numb fingers punching the correct buttons.

"This is Sal."

"It's Eddie. We got a problem."


	3. Play Date

I hope you guys like this chapter! Let me know what you think - trying to keep the Joker in character while adding my twist to the story. R&R greatly appreciated, as are all of your kind words and constructive criticism.

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><p>He stood among the corpses; his dark-rimmed eyes scanning over the blood spatter and shell casings that littered the floor. His jaw moved slowly, his teeth pinching the wrinkled skin of his scars. The body beside him had one half of the broken cue stick protruding from his abdomen. Grabbing it, he pulled the wood roughly from the soft flesh. The sickening sound made Charlie want to vomit, and the Joker licked grease paint from his lips.<p>

"So the red-head likes to play _rough_," he growled, studying the bloody point of the stick. Pieces had splintered off from the end, and he admired how much force she would have needed.

"One of Gambol's guys called her by her name, boss," Charlie explained slowly. His words caught the Joker's attention immediately. The clown's head twisted sharply to the side, his acid green hair falling limply against his cheek. His scars curved up with his lips.

"_Oh_? And what might it be?"

Charlie lifted his head, smiling with pride at his having identified the hit man. "Eddie."

The Joker's eyebrows rose and his lips curled over his teeth as he mouthed the name back to Charlie. He then proceeded to whisper it to himself over and over until he was laughing hysterically. Dropping the pool stick, he continued to laugh as he kicked one of the corpses. His brown Oxford bounced against the bruised flesh, moving the body a few inches. He then glared at Charlie, his eyes wild in excitement and menace. His lips spread into a grin that threatened to tear his scars open.

"I love surprises. Did you know that I _love_ surprises? They make everything so much more, hmmm, _fun_." The clown had his switch blade in his hand, its sharp tip pointing towards his loyal dog as he continued. "Do you love surprises, Ch_aaarles_?"

Charlie nodded, his pupils dilating at the sight of the approaching blade. His pride at his discovery fell into the pit of his stomach. The Joker was soon in front of him, his gloved paw holding him by the back of the neck as the tip of the blade was pushed into Charlie's cheek. The lackey's eyes were straining to the side, trying to keep the weapon in view.

"Now, keep your eyes on _meee_," the Joker instructed, his voice raising in pitch as if chastising a child. His breath smelled of cigars, which was odd given that no one ever saw him smoke. When their eyes met, the clown continued, his voice lowering. "Listen closely." He smacked his lips, his eyes rolling. "I love surprises, _but_, I want to know where that _little_ red-headed assassin is hiding. I made it **_very_** clear I wanted, _tabs_, kept on the mob daddies' hit man, and you. _Dropped. The. Ball._"

His last few statement was between a growl and a bark, the words slipping through clenched teeth. Charlie grimaced against the pinching pain of the blade as it tore through a few layers of flesh.

"_Look at me_."

Fearful eyes snapped open at the command. The Joker took the hand that held the switch blade and gripped Charlie's chin.

"Are you gonna go f_iiii_nd the little min-_x_?" He forced the lackey's head to move up and down in mock agreement. "Are you gonna drop the baaall agai_n-ah_?" He moved Charlie's head side to side before barking angrily. "_Good!_"

The Joker pushed him back, forcing him to stumble and catch his heels on the body of one of the corpses. Charlie hit the ground hard, bent awkwardly over the body of his comrade. He watched in fear as the Joker picked up the discarded pool stick and stalked towards him. He looked away, bracing himself for the final blow, but no strike came. He opened his eyes, both surprised and relieved when he heard the apartment door open and the Joker's retreating footsteps.

* * *

><p>After explaining to Maroni what had happened, Edith decided to stay in the alley for a short while to calm herself. She was never one for spontaneity; her job and lifestyle required every detail to be mapped out and every possible problem planned for. She had taught her self to expect the unexpected, but she definitely had not expected that. <em>Damn.<em> She hated surprises.

The metallic, tangy smell of blood suddenly struck her nostrils, and she realized that her shirt was covered in it. Grabbing her duffel bag, she wiped her face with a towel she brought, changed her shirt, and tossed the red flannel in a nearby dumpster before skirting out of the alley. The hotel was only a few blocks north of where she was, so she decided to walk. The cold wind nipped at her cheeks and sweaty brow; the sensation somewhat refreshing. When the lit-up sign for the "Carlton Hotel" came in to view, she quickened her stride. The hotel itself was mid-scale; nothing too fancy, and that was just fine with her. She entered through the sliding doors, greeted by a quiet, empty lobby. An older man in a maroon jacket stood behind the counter, and he greeted her with a smile.

"Cold out there, huh?" he asked as Edith approached, taking note of the red in her cheeks and nose. "Do you have a reservation?"

"I should. Last name is Green."

The man fiddled with his computer for a moment. "Ah, yes. Edith Green? Room 453," he said. He pulled a small envelope with two key cards out of the drawer next to him and handed it to her. Wishing her a good night, Edith smiled her thanks. She took the elevator to the fourth floor and found her room to be at the end of the hall, overlooking the Wayne Botanical Garden. A single queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, an HD TV mounted on the opposite wall. A small kitchenette and mini bar were tucked in the corner beside the bathroom door. Throwing her duffel bag on the bed, she went immediately into the bathroom and turned the shower on. As she waited for the water to heat up, she gripped the cold marble of the sink and studied her reflection, noting the bags under her eyes. She allowed herself to acknowledge her exhaustion then, her shoulder muscles relaxing once the hot spray of water hit her back.

On the phone, Maroni had sounded furious. Not with her, and not like it would matter, but with the situation; he probably feared for his own safety. He had offered to pay her the bounty for the Joker if she could off him too, and she told him she would consider it. If the clown kept up his antics, the bosses' priorities may change, as their accountant was safe in Hong Kong for the time being.

But, for now, she had her four million dollar job.

* * *

><p>Harsh knocking startled Edith awake. With the heavy, floral curtains drawn, the hotel room was black. The area around her had a haze of red from the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table: 6:15 AM. Groaning, she pushed herself onto her forearms, trying to blink away the sleep that clung to her eyelids.<p>

The knocking picked up again, followed by a high-pitched voice: "Housekeeping!"

"Not interested!" Edith shouted in reply. She hoped her voice sounded as irritated as she felt.

_Bam. Bam. Bam._ "Housekeeping!"

"Ugh, _fine_, just hold on for fucks-sake."

Grumbling, Edith pushed the covers from her body and donned on a pair of sweat pants and a flimsy tank top. Marching to the door, she threw it open, momentarily blinded by the hallway light. "It's _six_ in the damn morning, what do you -"

Suddenly, she paused. When her vision adjusted and she opened her eyes fully, she saw no one. Edith looked up the hallway. Nothing. Bewildered and half asleep, she went to close the door when something at her feet caught her attention. Looking down to the carpet, she felt her mouth go dry.

A broken, wooden pool stick sat within the door frame, its sharp tip soaked in dried blood. Beside it lay a single card, a Joker card. Her heart was beating wildly within her chest, but her movement was smooth as she bent down and slowly picked up the card. The message on it was typed neatly in black, the small font reading: _You f__orgot this. Come play. 3163 S Fairview Ave.  
><em>

She looked down the hallway one more time, as if the Joker would suddenly appear around the corner, but there was nothing. Cautiously, Edith took the card and pool stick inside before closing the door and double locking it. She contemplated calling Maroni, but decided against it, not wanting to get into the habit of running to him with every clown-related issue.

She allowed herself a small smirk as she studied the playing card.

If the Joker wanted to play, she would play.

* * *

><p>S Fairview Ave ran along the outskirts of the Narrows and near the waterfront of the Gotham River. Having spent much of her childhood in the dilapidated neighborhood, she knew it fairly well. She took a taxi across the bridge out of midtown, watching the busy traffic as people went about their days. The Gotham skyline towered over the grimy water below the bridge, casting distorted shadows into the muck. The taxi turned on S Fairview Ave, which was filled with beat up and gutted out cars. Rusty warehouses and broken down buildings lined the streets. Deciding to walk the rest of the way, Edith paid and exited the cab, taking note of the faded numbers on the buildings around her. When the cab turned the corner, she headed south down the road.<p>

Had it been night, she would have purchased a gun from somewhere for protection. She had learned the hard way once that a girl, no matter her age, shouldn't be walking alone in Gotham at night, let alone the Narrows. Daylight provided her with some protection now, and the small knife she carried in her pocket didn't hurt either. Stuffing her chilled hands into her pockets, she fingered the tip of the weapon and the edge of the Joker card she brought with her. The idea of the Joker's invitation being a trap had crossed her mind, but for some reason, it didn't seem like his _style._Without really knowing her motives, Edith continued down the road, her black boots kicking up dust and loose concrete. When the numbers on the buildings got into the 3000s, she slowed her stride, taking in the exact location in case she had to make some grand escape. A few homeless folk had taken refuge and fallen asleep in an alley across the way, wrapped in worn sleeping bags and knitted hats. The sight of them brought a sinking pain into her chest; it was a feeling she didn't want to acknowledge right then.

The numbers 3136 were painted crudely on the front of a three-story warehouse. A garage door took up a large part of the front wall and all the windows were broken and boarded up. On the side of the warehouse was a short alley where a muddy, grey utility van was parked, back license plate missing. A metal staircase rested against the side of the building, leading to a door on the second floor. Taking a breath, Edith moved forward towards the stairs. The metal creaked beneath her weight, and she instinctively held on to the railing for support. Her heart was racing with anticipation; she always had a knack for getting into bad situations for the fun of it. It was a habit neither she nor Maroni could ever break. Curiosity hadn't killed her - yet.

She knocked three times, firmly and loudly, the force vibrating through the door. She could hear the sound of men laughing inside, and then the sound of heavy footsteps approached. With her hand in her pocket, Edith gripped the handle of her knife.

The door opened only a crack, and a single, gray eye peaked around the edge. The pupil dilated and the eyebrow dipped low with anger. Then, the door was swung open violently.

"_What the hell_? Why are you here?"

Edith recognized him as the lackey she set free in Gambol's apartment. Her free hand went to her hip, her eyes narrowing.

"I was invited, _Charlie_."

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah? By who?"

Edith rolled her eyes and took the Joker card from her pocket. She flicked it towards him. "I don't know," she replied in annoyance. "Your boss? You tell me."

Charlie studied the card, his eyes darting back and forth over the printed message. "Can't be right."

"Well, why don't you let me in and I can ask the big clown himself?"

"_Hell no_. Not unless the Joker says. For all I know, you printed this shit out."

Charlie slammed the door in her face and locked it, taking the card with him. From outside on the stairs, she could hear him shouting.

"_YO_! Get the boss. Tell him the red-head is outside with this card... I know he's _working_... He ain't going to kill you. Jesus, he wanted us to find her and now she's at the damn door... _Fine_, I'll get him. _Pansy-ass_."

Edith chuckled, resting her low back against the railing behind her. She didn't hear any other voices, but the familiar, heavy footsteps eventually returned. She straightened her back and put on a triumphant smirk. When the door opened, Charlie was red faced and breathing heavy.

"Still think I printed the card, _pansy-ass_?" Edith teased.

The lackey scowled, but moved out-of-the-way so she could enter. As expected, the warehouse was incredibly cold and dank. Edith found herself on a balcony overlooking the first floor. The linoleum at her feet stretched to the other side of the building before curving left down a hallway. A staircase was to her left, leading down. Light from the windows above the garage spilled onto the cement floor below, illuminating the dust and stains. Four men sat at a cheap plastic table in the middle of the room, playing poker, but all eyes were on her. One man whistled.

"Ha, guess we know why the boss wanted us to find her," he called out. Laughter erupted from the group. "Hey, Charlie, why don't you bring her down here."

"Boss said not to touch her, Mack," Charlie replied, quickly descending the stairs.

"As if any of you _could_," Edith growled. She walked down the stairs slowly, the heel of her boots clinking loudly against the metal.

Mack stood, craning his neck to the side to pop the joints. He was tall, and somewhat lanky, but his muscles were well-defined and covered in tattoos. He strode towards their guest, a mirthful glint in his eye. "For a clown our boss sure ain't fun, don't ya think?" he asked her, his form towering over hers. He continued to ignore the warnings from his comrades.

Edith stared up at him sternly and full of confidence. "Ah, I don't know. He seems kinda... _sweet."_

Mack's hand was soon around her throat, squeezing hard, but not painfully so. Edith let him, one hand wrapped around his wrist and the other in her pocket, ready to strike. His eyes glazed over in anger as he spoke.

"You don't seem like the kind of girl who likes _sweet_. _Nah_, my brother's dead body at Gambol's place says otherwise."

His grip on her throat tightened. Edith moved to tear the knife from her pocket, but a familiar voice made her muscles freeze.

"_Ah ta ta ta ta_. Let's all try to get al_ooo_ng, shall _we_?"

Both Mack and Edith looked to the stairs, his hand still on her throat. The Joker was skipping down, his tongue clicking like a chiding parent. When he reached the first floor, Mack let her go and immediately backed away, hands raised in surrender. The Joker's black orbs narrowed as he stalked closer, his red lips pursing. He passed Edith, switch blade in hand.

"You look, _guilty_, Macky boy," he said dangerously, waving the tip of the blade in front of him. "Do something you _shouldn't_ have?"

Mack shook his head desperately. "No, boss, just letting her know who's in charge, that's all."

The Joker lowered his threatening hand, putting his blade back in the pocket of his trench coat. The tone of his voice became lighter and higher-pitched, as if he was pleased with that answer. "Ah, well isn't that just so _nice_ of you. Who did you say was in charge-_ah_?"

"Well you, obvio -"

Mack's words were drowned out by the loud pop of the Joker's revolver, and his body hit the ground face-first. The bullet had struck him in the head, sending blood spatter across the floor and onto the frozen, terrified men at the card table.

The Joker was cackling like a hyena. "_Clean up on aisle three!_"

He turned to Edith then, his arms outstretched in greeting, as if expecting a hug. Edith's feet were planted, her arms across her chest. The clown gave her an arrogant, one-sided smirk.

"Why so cold, _Eddie_?"

At the sound of her nickname, her muscles tightened. She had expected him to know her name, but not her nickname. Her mind raced with possibilities and just how much he knew about her. She couldn't remember if anyone had called her that the other night at Gambol's.

She suddenly felt under dressed for their little charade.

"How do you know that name?" she asked quietly.

"Now, l_eee_t's not talk business in front of the children."

He pointed up to the second floor and motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. You could almost hear a pin drop.

"Leave the gun."

The Joker turned to her, brow raised. His eyes darted to the audience at the card table, then back to her, his smile widening.

"I'll do you one even better, _toots_," he chuckled. Gun in hand, he skipped towards her. "I'll let you hold on to it, _hm_?"

He opened the barrel to show her it wasn't empty before plopping it unceremoniously into her hands. He was standing so close, she could smell the gasoline that stained his clothes, and her neck craned back slightly so she could see his face. His eyes were not black, but rather a rich, chocolate-brown. The grease paint on his forehead and around his eyes was cracked, revealing the pale skin that sat underneath. She was staring; she figured he was used to that.

His pink tongue darted out quickly before he spoke, his voice deep, rumbling, and low.

"_Ready to play_?"


	4. Good Girl

Hope everyone is enjoying the story! Let me know what you think so far; R&R appreciated! Thank you to everyone who has!

* * *

><p><em>She was perched on the flat rooftop of an eight story apartment building in the Narrows. The front of her body was pressed into the cooling cement. The height of the building gave her some coverage, and she left the rest up to the oncoming darkness of night. With an eye pressed into the scope of her sniper rifle, a young, eighteen-year-old Edith searched the filthy street below her for her target. She hadn't cared to learn his name; she had seen his picture and knew who to look for. She tracked his phone calls for the past week and had been following his schedule diligently. Chechen had offered her thirty-five thousand to kill the man who he said was "threatening business", which usually meant there was some petty rivalry. She never cared to learn the specifics, dissociation had always been her preference.<em>

_She caught sight of her target: a heavy set man wearing a cheap navy suit. Edith recognized the receding hairline and wobbly jowls. He had a thing for the prostitutes that worked one corner of the street below, business or pleasure, Edith didn't care. She watched through the scope as he approached two scantily-clad women, their legs dressed in fishnet tights. The small group laughed and flirted with each other, the women on either side of him, looping their arms through his. As they began to walk away, Edith set the crosshair of the scope on the back of his head._

_The sound was muffled by the suppressor, but the women's screams were loud enough to wake the dead. They ran down the street, falling over themselves and away from the bloody, nearly headless heap on the ground. Edith stood and pulled the black hood of her jacket over her head. Taking the sniper with her, she moved back into the building. When she reached the alley outside, she quickly dismantled the sniper and put the pieces in her duffel bag for later disposal. She made it a habit to never use the same gun twice._

_Walking casually away from the scene, Edith took her phone and sent Chechen a single message: "It's done."_

_His response was immediate: "Good girl."_

* * *

><p>She followed the Joker into the hallway of the second floor, her hand gripping the gun as she held it close to her side. She could kill him now, a single shot to the back of the head and be one million dollars richer, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. In that moment, she didn't want to; she was far too intrigued. Only a few paces behind him, she watched how his long strides broke into skips every so often, causing the tails of his purple coat to fly upward. He was animated, like a cartoon; no wonder people always stared.<p>

The hallway smelled of mildew, the walls yellowed and brown with water stains. They passed multiple "maintenance" doors, but the Joker seemed set on the door at the end of the hallway. He stopped in front of it, spinning quickly so they were face to face. The look in his eyes alarmed her, and his wide smile brought no comfort. Her knuckles of her gun-wielding hand were turning white.

"Oh, now, don't be so _serious_," he scolded, taking a small step forward.

She took a small step back. "Don't be so.. _weird_."

"Ha, but being weird is so much, fun-_nah_.. and, speaking of _fun_, follow me."

He turned and opened the door, not bothering to hold it for his guest. The room was large and nearly empty; only a pair of dirty brown couches and a cluttered desk filled the space. Windows were covered with plaster board, the walls were padded with sound-proofing foam. Harsh, halogen lights burned bright and hummed from above, the light illuminating the red Glasgow smiles and "HA HA HA HA"s that were smeared on the walls. She gazed around the room with wide eyes, jumping when the door slammed behind her. The Joker was to her right, his hand on the door, and her stare eventually falling on the black heap behind him. Her jaw dropped; strapped to a chair with duct tape and rope was Batman, his head drooped and body slouched forward. She stepped a few inches closer, but was stopped when the Joker put a gloved hand on her shoulder.

"_Shhhh_, he's sleeping," he cackled in soft laughter. Edith took note of the black, baggy pants the hostage wore and what looked like fake, plastic armor over his chest.

"That's not Batman," she replied, her head shaking slowly. Was the clown as stupid as he was insane?

The Joker's laughter was louder this time as he skipped towards the unconscious man. He pushed the body up, grabbing the man's chubby cheeks between two gloved fingers and turning the face so Edith could see him.

"But he sure does fill out the costume!"

He let the man's head fall, his weight tilting the chair forward slightly. The Joker brushed his hands together and walked towards her. "Gotta wait for him to wake up, then the fun can start. Buuut," he said, getting uncomfortably close. "We have business to dis-_cuss_-_ah_."

"I thought you wanted to _play_."

"_Same. Thing_."

Edith smirked. He was a good foot taller than her, forcing her neck to extend back as she met his gaze. His head was tilted to the side, like a dog confused by a strange, new noise. Her eyes glossed over the contours and grooves of his scars, her mind buzzing from his filthy, intoxicating scent. When he spoke, his voice was low and smooth like silk.

"Wanna know how I got my scar_sss_?"

"I already did, remember? Mean ol' daddy bear got to you. Which reminds me - how did you know the name 'Eddie'. You hear it at Gambol's?"

His eyes darkened and he smiled. "Nooo."

"Don't play games," she said sternly, her body inching just a little closer to him to let him know she wasn't afraid. "Tell me what you know."

He pushed past her suddenly, striding over to the desk that sat in the corner of the room. He slid a wooden chair front of it before walking around to the other side. With one sweep of his arm, he threw the mountain of clutter from the tabletop, littering the floor with papers and books. Plopping down in own chair, he brought his feet up to rest on the desk. He crossed his ankles, the hem of his purple pants riding up and revealing his colorful plaid socks.

He extended a gloved hand to the chair he provided. "C'mon, toots," he said, beckoning her to sit. "Let's _chat_."

Edith took the bait. Sitting, she crossed her legs and rested her elbows on the arms of the chair while the Joker brought his hands to rest on the back of his head.

"Sooo, you want to know how I know your little, _alias_?"

"That would be a good place to start," Edith replied.

"Maroni."

"_Maroni_ told you who I was?"

"W_eee_ll, not exactly. He said he had someone, _cheaper_, than me who would kill the Batman. And th_eee_n, I put a tracker on his car and phone, he went to you, you came to him, and the rest is.. _history_." He gave her a sly smirk and wiggled his brow, clearly proud of himself. Leaning back, he folded his arms lightly across his chest. "Eddie is such a pret-_ty_ name for a girl."

Nothing he said really surprised her. He was a chaotic, killer clown, afterall. She supposed that stalker wasn't too far from that description. "How did you know what hotel I was staying at? I never called Maroni from there."

The Joker pushed himself up so that his feet were on the floor, his elbows now resting on the desk. "Ah, _now_, a magician never reveals his secrets."

"I thought you were a clown?"

With a roll of his eyes, he shrugged. "I never really liked labels."

Edith chuckled, a genuine sound that she wasn't expecting. She quickly rid herself of her smirk, but it was too late. His triumphant smile was wider than wide.

"I have an offer for you," he said. "I'm told I pay much better than the mob."

"The mob is giving me four million dollars to kill Batman. They're offering me one million to kill you. What are you possibly offering that is worth more than that?"

"...Half."

"Half of _what_?"

"Well, that depends on if you agree with my, _terms_."

Edith pursed her lips, unsure of where this was going. If she didn't like his deal, she wondered if he would take no for an answer. She wondered if she would actually have to kill him right here and now. Smacking his lips loudly, he continued:

"_I_ don't want to kill the _Ba_tman. I don't want _you_ to kill the _Bat_man. He's sort of like a, hm, _pet project_ of mine. I'm offering you half of what I have if you do what I say. Now, the _amoooount_ of that half could vary. You tell the mob you're out, they'll hire me and give me half. You would get half of that half and _yaddadada_. You are looking aaaat," he closed his eyes his finger dancing in the air as if doing mental math, "over thirty million at leas-_t_."

She stared at him like he was growing two heads, the way most people did, but on her, he liked it. She was an open book, the way her big blue Bambi eyes lit up at the number. She was interested; he knew. He always knew.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, her body leaning forward slightly. "You want to give me thirty million dollars to _not_ kill Batman."

"Wiiith a few strings atta_ched_."

She laughed; unabashed, unashamed laughter to the point that her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair. The Joker watched her, his head tilting to the side again as the sound shot electricity up his thighs. He chewed the inside of his scars; he liked That. Laugh. When she calmed, she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. Her voice was breathless when she spoke.

"Wow. I have to say, you sure are -"

"Craz -"

"_Interesting_," she quipped. "Why don't you just kill me? The mob may go to you, they may not. Either way, Batman lives and you keep your money."

The Joker's smile faded. "I'm not interested in **money**." He spoke the word like it put a bad taste in his mouth. "Killing you is no fun. Using Maroni's _liiittle_ pet against him is much better."

"So that's what this is? You just want to cause trouble and piss off as many people as you can?"

"...Yeah."

She studied him quietly, trying to see the man behind the paint, because that's all he was: a man. A man that could bleed, be maimed, and be killed. He had once been a child. Edith wondered if his background had been as dismal as hers. He clearly lacked empathy, which means they had at least one thing in common. The clown shifted in his chair.

"So what will it b -"

"I'll think about it," Edith said quickly. She rose to her feet and immediately turned for the door. The Joker remained seated, watching her with interested eyes. Her delicate hand held the doorknob.

"A-hem."

She looked back to the him. "What?"

"My gun?"

She remembered the heaviness that weighed down one side of her jacket. With one hand still on the doorknob, she pulled out the revolver, its polished metal glinting brilliantly against the halogen lights.

"You know," she said, admiring the weapon. "I like this gun. I think I'll keep it."

And just like that, she was gone.


	5. Little Puppet

Let me know what you guys think! Starting to pick-up, a bit. I think I've kept people in character fairly well. Reviews appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>That girl<em>. He _liked_ that girl. Very few could genuinely catch his interest like she just had.

The Joker remained seated at the desk, his eyes glued to the shut door where she had retreated. There was something about her, something _bizzare; _he wanted to cut it from her pale skin and keep it as a trophy. He hadn't fully realized this until she laughed - that pure, unadulterated sound, the memory of which made his hair stand on end.

He rose abruptly from his chair, adjusting the lapels of his coat and sucking at his scars. Many people had laughed at him, nervously, mockingly, but never in the way she had. She and him, he suspected - _no_, he _knew_ - were cut from the same cloth.

The wanna-be Batman suddenly groaned from across the room, and the Joker felt his hair stand on end once again.

_The fun is just beginning_.

* * *

><p>Edith had her phone in her hand as she hurried down the lonely side street and towards the intersection where she could hail a cab. She hadn't bothered to acknowledge the Joker's henchmen when she left; they were mopping up the mess their colleague had left when she made her exit. <em>Served Mack right.<em>

Now standing on the sidewalk of the busier street, she finished her text message to Maroni, asking if she could meet with him and Chechen together. She quickly grabbed a taxi and directed the driver to the Carlton. A few moments later, her phone vibrated with a message.

_We are grabbing lunch at the Palamino downtown in 5. You can meet us there_.

Edith settled back in her seat once she redirected the cabi, readjusting the revolver that was secured to her back by her belt. She was half-listening to the static-filled news station that was on the radio. Her mind was preoccupied with what had transpired with the Joker and the information he shared. She hadn't realized that he had offered his services to the mob or that Maroni went to her because she was _cheaper_. Her lips deepened into a scowl as the thought burned through her. The clown wanted half, which was an absurd amount to request, but he was an absurd kind of guy. There was just one question that continued to trouble Edith: if she hadn't accepted Maroni's offer, would they have hired the Joker and given him half?

She was going to find out.

* * *

><p>The restaurant was a cheap Italian place, the usual spot where the mob families talked business. Maroni and Chechen were at a small table in the middle of the restaurant, their men occupying the other spots around them. Seeing Edith, Maroni waved, motioning for her to come and sit beside him. She took the seat, giving Chechen a brief smile before turning her attention to the Italian.<p>

"We have to talk."

Maroni raised his brow and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Something else happen?"

"The clown bother you?" Chechen asked, his mouth full of pasta. The white napkin hanging out of his collar was covered in marinara stains and his black, stringy hair seemed greasier than usual.

Edith shook her head. "No, he didn't bother me, but I heard he made you an offer for him to kill Batman."

Maroni took another bite of his pasta. "Yeah, the freak wanted way too much. What of it?"

"You went to me because you knew I would accept the job for less money."

The mob bosses simply stared at her, both wondering where she was going with the whole thing. Edith sighed irritably, leaning forward so her arms rested on the table.

"Do you know how insulting that is?" she whispered harshly. "To find out that you think I would take a job like this for _chump change_?"

"Hold on. You think four million chump change?" Chechen replied, coughing slightly in disbelief.

"For _Batman_? You bet your ass I do, especially when I get wind of how much my competition wanted. If you want me, you pay me half, and then you pay me the one million when I kill the Joker."

"You're crossing the line with us, little puppet," Maroni growled. "That's not gonna happen. You best drop this."

Edith laughed softly, ignoring his patronizing pet name for her. "Tell me, _boys_, if I wasn't around to do your dirty work, would you have hired the clown?"

Their hesitation was the only answer she needed. She pushed herself back from the table, the chair screeching against the linoleum floor. "I'm out," she said, standing. "My offer has expired. I'm sure there is someone _cheaper _than me, anyways."

The men watched as she walked out of the restaurant, her red mane bouncing with each loud, heeled step. Maroni growled angrily, throwing his napkin onto his half-eaten plate of food. His appetite had vanished. Chechen continued to stuff his face. The news was playing on the TV across from them; Harvey Dent was being interviewed by multiple reporters. The bosses listened closely as the reports came in of Lau having been captured by Batman. He was being held within the MCU lock-up.

"We hire the clown," Chechen stated, forcing Maroni's attention on him. "We still got to fix real problem. He is only one willing to do job now, cheaper than Eddie."

Maroni shook his head, his eyes turning back to the TV. He was right. Aside from Eddie and the clown, there was no one crazy enough to accept the job. She always had to make things difficult, even as a kid, and now that she was older, and sober, she was impossible to deal with. The traffic sounds and noise outside of the restaurant grew louder, drawing the mob bosses attention to the opening door. Gordon strode in, looking cocky and proud of himself.

The Italian leaned back in his chair as the officers approached.

They really couldn't catch a break today.

* * *

><p>Edith was fuming, but she felt so <em>damn good<em> as she walked briskly down the busy streets. She had always mouthed off to the mob, but they let her do it because they knew she would always comply in the end. Maroni had started calling her his _little puppet_ when she was fourteen and in his care. He used her, forced her to reach the full, lethal potential he knew she had. He would often force her to fight off his lackeys, paying them to attack her and make her fight back. _Expendable_ - that was another thing he always called her, and told her he would never save her from his men. If she wanted to live, she either had to kill or make it so they could not hurt her. She tried to runaway multiple times, but she never got very far.

But Eddie was gone, and with her went the mob's little puppet.

Her stomach suddenly rumbled then, forcing a brief wave of nausea to flow over her. She had barely eaten all day. Walking a few more blocks, Edith walked into the first restaurant she saw: a small, corner building that offered coffee and breakfast all day. It was quaint and sparsely decorated, but it had a comfortable feel. With how crowded it was with men in suits, she assumed she had joined the business lunch crowd. With her blue jeans and black jacket, she felt like a sore thumb.

She took a seat at the bar and ordered a cup of coffee before flipping through the menu. Caffeine was the one drug she could never give up, and she drank it probably more than she should. When the waiter came to take her order, Edith barely had time to open her mouth before a masculine voice intercepted her.

"Her order is on me."

Edith looked to the man who sat a few feet away at the bar, three empty seats separating them. He wore an expensive black suit with a crisp white shirt; his tie was knotted loosely at his collar. His skin was a golden tan, head full of black, shiny hair; his cheek bones could cut glass. He smiled warmly at Edith, raising his coffee cup to her. Oddly, she felt as if she recognized him from somewhere.

"No, it's not," she replied after a moment, but her words were directed to the confused waiter in front of her. "I'll take Countryside Breakfast, please, wheat toast with no butter." She turned her attention back the handsome stranger. "That's nice of you, but I take care of myself."

The man's smile deepened, and he moved from his seat to take the one next to hers. His body was turned towards her in the stool, one arm resting on the counter. "Can a man not buy a beautiful woman some food?"

Edith laughed at his cliche attitude. She closed the menu in front of her and slid it to the side. "A little bit of advice, Mr..?"

"Wayne, but please, call me Bruce."

"_Mr. Wayne_. If you want to woo a _beautiful_ woman, I'd start by not acting like a total ass hat and assuming she even wants you to buy her anything in the first place."

Bruce dipped his head slightly and chuckled. When he looked up, his smile was still there and his brown eyes were warm and amused. He noticed then how piercing her eyes were: blue, fierce, and independent. They reminded him of another woman he knew.

"I apologize," he said, his tone genuine. "I didn't mean to offend you. May I buy you lunch? Or, well, breakfast, I guess?"

Edith smirked. She lowered her guard somewhat and took a sip of her coffee. "Sure, _Bruce_," she quipped. "Why not."

"Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name?"

She turned to him, their bodies now facing one another. Her knees grazed the fabric of his black pants slightly. "Edith Green. You know, you look a little familiar. Are you some big shot lawyer?"

Bruce laughed heartily, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth. "God, no," he replied. "I've been called a lot of things, never a lawyer. Are you from around here?"

"Lived here until I was about fourteen."

"Wayne Enterprises ring a bell at all?"

Edith's eyes widened slightly. _That_ was where she recognized him from - TV news, newspapers, magazines. You name it, he was in it. She remembered seeing his face in a newspaper article recently, something about ballerinas and taking a bunch of women on a yacht. She recalled thinking that it hardly qualified as news.

"So you're of _that_ Wayne family. Explains the arrogance."

"You think I'm arrogant? You just met me."

"First impressions are everything, I'm afraid."

Bruce watched as she turned to face the counter and as her lips puckered when she took another sip of her coffee. He admired her honesty. It was refreshing, and again, she reminded him of Rachel. They continued to talk lightly, throwing witty remarks around. She told him she was twenty-seven and moved away with her parents when she was fourteen. She had gone to school out of state and was in town visiting an old friend from college. When their food came, they spoke less, and despite his exhaustion, he enjoyed her company. He had chosen to eat there so he could be alone, much to Alfred's irritation, as he had prepared Bruce a large breakfast for his return from China.

After they had finished eating, Bruce picked up the tab as promised. He followed her out of the restaurant, and they stood awkwardly in front of each other for a few seconds.

"Well, thanks for breakfast, Bruce," she said with a smile. She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"I'd like to see you again, Edith. Can I take you to dinner? I'm free tonight if you are."

Edith raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Two meals in one day? I take back my advice. You clearly know how to woo women."

"I'm serious," Bruce replied with a chuckle. "I know a very nice place downtown, the Grotto. I can pick you up."

She shook her head, her red hair cascading over her shoulders. "No, you don't have to pick me up," she replied. "The Grotto, you say? I'll meet you there at 8. See you then, Bruce."

He watched as she turned and walked down the sidewalk before hailing a cab. When the yellow sedan disappeared around the corner, Bruce began walking towards his black BMW. Alfred was not going to let him live this down.

* * *

><p>Edith checked out of the Carlton, knowing her stay would not be welcomed any longer. She had enough money on her to check into a different hotel and stay for about a week. Past that, she wasn't sure. She was still shocked at herself for agreeing to go out to dinner with Bruce Wayne, one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the city. When she was young, about seven or eight, "Annie" had been her favorite movie; she dreamed of being rescued off the streets by a rich man who would buy her everything and anything. As she grew older, she realized what a crock that dream had been.<p>

And yet, Bruce's attention had been nice. She wasn't afraid to admit that. She had lied to him, of course. She was twenty-two, never been to college; oh, yeah, and she failed to tell him she was a trained assassin for the mob. Not exactly first date conversation.

Edith took some time to herself before finally taking the initiative to go see the Joker again. She wanted to hear what his "terms" were before she accepted his offer. After checking into another midtown hotel, she grabbed a cab to the Narrows and got off at the start of S Fairview Ave. It was dusk, and the once lonely street was more alive now. She passed by a few drug dealers who whistled to her as she walked by, offering her a taste of their product. It took all of her strength to continue walking away.

When she reached 3163, she hurried up the staircase and found the door locked. Growling irritably, she pounded on the metal door until she heard heavy footsteps approach. The door opened a crack before it was swung open completely.

"Not _you_ again. What do you want this time?"

It was a different lackey now, tall with broad shoulders and a bald head. Edith pushed past him and walked across the second floor balcony towards the hallway. The man yelled at her to come back, and when she didn't stop, he rushed towards her and grabbed her by the wrist. Edith spun around instinctively, revolver in her other hand. She held it slightly under his chin. The other goons had run up the stairs and were standing in the background, ready to pounce.

"I have business to finish," Edith said calmly, yanking her slender wrist from the man's grip. She kept the gun pointed at his head. "Don't get in my way."

"The boss ain't down there," Charlie replied, stepping forward. "He's upstairs working, third floor."

She lowered the gun. "Where are the stairs?"

Charlie pointed down the hall. "First door on the left. The boss ain't keen on being interrupted, just to warn ya, especially in that room."

Edith turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall, leaving a bunch of shocked men gaping at her back. When she reached the third floor, she found herself in front of a very dark hallway, the lights having been broken or burnt out. There were multiple doors, but the sound of distant laughter and screaming pulled her down the hall and to the right. A flimsy wooden door sat at the end, the sounds loud enough that she could hear them from outside.

_"Are you the real Batman?"_

_"No -"_

_"No? Nooo? Then why do you dress up like him?"_

At the sound of the Joker's laugh, Edith carefully opened the door. She had tucked the revolver back into her belt, but she still gripped the handle. The room was dark, the only source of light coming from an old TV on the floor in the middle of the room. The Joker sat in front of it, legs tucked Indian style. His back was to her, his frame outlined from the white light of the TV He didn't acknowledge the open door, his attention consumed by the macabre film that was playing.

Edith flipped a light switch that sat to her left, illuminating the room with the dismal, yellow light from the ceiling. The Joker's head turned quickly to the door at the interruption, his scowl pulling his scars downward. When he saw her, he immediately smiled and jumped up. Pausing the TV, he turned to her.

"Now normally, I would call it _rude_ to, _walk_, in without an invita_tion_," he said, his back straight and tall. "But for you, I will make this my _one exception_. How may I hel_-p_ you?"

"You said your deal had some strings attached," Edith replied, stepping further into the room. "I want to know what those strings are before I accept."

The Joker's eyes brightened with her words. Her gaze followed him as he strode across the room, stopping and rifling through papers that sat haphazardly on a nearby desk. The room must have once been an office, as it had filing cabinets and bookshelves tucked against the wall. A queen-sized mattress rested on the floor in the corner, blankets and miscellaneous clothes strewn across it. It was then that Edith realized she was actually in _his room_.

Eventually, the Joker gave up looking for whatever it was he had been looking for. He jumped up and sat on the desk, his weight crushing the papers he sat on. His feet crossed at the ankles and swung casually back and forth.

"My stringsss," he crooned, the 's' ending with a high-pitched voice, "are _simple_. String number _one_, you don't kill _Bat_man. String number _two_, you don't kill _me. _Not as if you could, _buuut_ we should be on the same _page_. String number _three_, you'll be a good girl and do what I tell you to: shoot someone _here_, shoot someone _there_, plant a bomb _here_, sta-_b_ someone _there_. And no going off the, uh, _gri-dah_. Oh, and _stop killing my boys_; my job, not _yours_."

Edith nodded. "Sounds fair. I have my own conditions."

The Joker's brow raised. "_Oh_?"

"I'm not simply going to be your puppet, and I'm not some goon you can order around the way you like to. This is a business deal, you're my _client_. You want me for something, you give me notice. _And_, with string number two, I won't kill you unless you are trying to kill me _or_ you double-cross me. _And_, I want some of the money up front. Non-refundable deposit, you could say."

The clown rolled his eyes at her last statement. "You mob-_folk_ and your _money_," he sighed, leaping from the table. He walked past her towards the mattress, throwing off the blankets and clothing. Beneath the heap of dirty linen sat a healthy sum of money, rubber-banded together in stacks. With gloved hands, the Joker took three stacks and tossed them to Edith.

"That is all you _get_, for now. _Non-refundable deposit_," he scoffed. He didn't mind playing her little game as long as she played his. He watched her as she counted how much she had.

"I'll start tomorrow," she said, her eyes on the cash in her hand.

"Why not _to-night_?"

Edith looked up, her blue eyes a darker color from the lack of light.

"Because, _boss_, I have a _date_."


	6. Like a Second Skin

**I've changed the rating to 'M' for the violence and for future adult/sexual situations.**

Story is coming along. Flipping through multiple POV's. Feedback and encouragement always appreciated. How are you guys liking it so far? I would love to hear what you think!

* * *

><p><em>She had learned to be many things growing up: apathetic, distrusting, fearful, brave; whatever it took to survive on the streets.<em>

_She learned to be so much more when she began working for the mob. She had played a vixen, a prostitute, a socialite, a typical teenager, even a corpse at one point. Maroni had once told her that she could have made a good actress, the way she wore a persona like a second skin, but Edith knew that she was only doing what she had to do to make the kill. She did what she had to in order to survive and secure her ticket out of hell that were the streets of Gotham. With each successful hit, she got paid, and when she got paid, she got to a roof over her head.  
><em>

_When she was nineteen, Edith found herself in the lion's den, which was no more than a three-story, dilapidated building that housed a local gang. The man she had been hired to kill threw her onto the mattress with so much force, she nearly bounced off the bed entirely. He was soon on top of her, his body pressed between her legs. His hands were under her skirt, bunching the fabric up to her waist as he roughly kneaded her hips. The fabric of his jeans chaffed the soft skin of her inner thighs. His mouth was soon on hers, devouring her feigned, yet believable, moans. Ripping her mouth from his, she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, and he responded with a low growl. Her hands were soon thrown up over her head, trapped against the mattress by his grip._

_"When the mob said they had a pro that liked it rough," h_e purred, the tip of his nose running along her jaw,_ "I wasn't expecting someone as pretty as you."  
><em>

_"Stop talking," Edith sighed, her body writhing underneath him. Unlike most of her hits, she knew this man's name: Kyle Thomas. He was only a few years older than her, handsome, and also undeniably stupid. He had agreed to sling dope for Gambol, and not only did he simply just get high with it, he got caught by the police while doing so. To avoid prison time, he agreed to cooperate with police and rat on Gambol's drug trade; hence the undeniably stupid part._

_Kyle got up from the bed and moved to the end table, rummaging quickly through the drawer for a condom. With his back to her, Edith moved off the bed quietly, brandishing the small switchblade she kept hidden in her bra. When he turned towards the bed, he was surprised to find her behind him and was unable comprehend what was happening until it was too late. His eyes flashed with anger, then shock, as he stared down at the blade that stuck him between his fifth and sixth rib. His heart began spilling his blood into his chest, the warm redness slowly staining his white shirt. Edith let go of the blade handle, watching apathetically as Kyle stumbled back into the end table. He fell over, bringing the dirty lamp with him and hitting the floor with a loud crash. He lasted only a few moments before going unconscious; his gurgled breathing ceased soon afterwards. Voices and footsteps from the rooms above her let her know that the other gang members had heard the commotion. The situation was not ideal; no time to clean up after herself, but she doubted it would matter in the end. The murder of a drug addict or drug dealer never seemed to be pursued as thoroughly as others. There were too many variables, too many suspects, but the biggest reason, Edith deduced, was that not many people actually cared enough. _

_Taking her switchblade and the heroin she knew he kept in the end table drawer, Edith made a quick escape out the first-floor window._

* * *

><p>"<em>Oooh<em>, a da-_te_, _hm_?" came the Joker's nasally drawl. His tone was mocking and hinted of irritation; Edith felt her temper flare. She glared up from the money in her hand, regretting having told him anything. He was closer to her now, having inched forward while she was busy counting her deposit. She flipped her hair off her shoulder and looked at him with hard eyes.

"Did I stutter?" she asked harshly. The stacks in her hand fell to the ground when a gloved hand grabbed her cheeks. His fingers dug painfully into her face, and he bent forward so they were nose to nose. She was frozen, her blue eyes locked on his grease paint-rimmed orbs. His make-up had faded, and the usual black coloring around his eyes had turned to a dull gray. The sound of his switch blade woke Edith from her trance, and the revolver was soon in her hand. The barrel of the gun reached his temple at the same time his switch blade reached the corner of her mouth.

"Ah, breaking a _string_ already, I see," he said. His breath was rotten and sweet against her skin. "If we're going to do, _business,_ together, we really should learn to, _get along_."

He pressed the sharp edge of the blade further into her mouth, and she pressed the barrel of the gun roughly against his temple in response. She hoped she would leave a bruise.

"Get your, _toy_, out of my mouth." Her words were somewhat slurred as her tongue danced around the tip of the blade, avoiding injury. The clown laughed, but the sound was deeper than usual, a low growl in his throat. His voice snaked around her like velvet.

"You _know_, I think you'd li**_k_**e having my _toy_ in your mouth, cup-**_cake_**." He paused, his pink tongue flickering out over his painted lips. "_I know I would_."

Snarling, Edith shoved him away, uncaring as the blade slipped past her lips and tore her flesh. She glowered at him, her chest heaving slightly with adrenaline. She refused to acknowledge that his words had sent a rush of heat into her lower abdomen.

He smiled at her triumphantly, knowing he was under her skin. Oh, how he loved to make that little face flush. And those lips. Full, pink lips that now curled over her white fangs with such _gorgeous_ anger; he wanted to rip those lips off with his teeth. Suddenly, his smirk was gone.

"No distractions," he said, his voice commanding her attention. "You wor-**_k_** for me, and the _customer_ is always right. Tell me, who's the _lucky_ lad, anyway?"

Edith scowl's deepened. She gripped the revolver tightly, knowing that the honeycomb pattern would be indented into her palm. She wouldn't put it away until the clown closed his switchblade.

"I don't think that's any of your business, _boss_."

"_Oh_, but it is, Eddie baby. It. **Really**. Is." He took a step towards her, using his hands to emphasize it point. "Any distraction of _yoours_ will be a distraction of _miiine_; and I don't like _dis-trac-tions_."

She bit her tongue. She hated the name Eddie, but the way it rolled off his tongue made her heart race with something foreign. With the back of her hand, she wiped a trail of blood from her chin, tasting the sticky liquid. He loomed only a few feet from her, one hand brandishing his blade, the other drumming idly against his thigh as he waited for her to answer, to_ submit_. She hated being dominated, but was beginning to realize that business with the Joker was going to be a "give and take" kind-of-arrangement. Sighing, she accepted the submissive road. _For now._

"Bruce Wayne."

She watched as the clown's jaw gaped slightly before he burst into a fit of laughter. His reaction left her feeling unsettled.

"That is rich. _Too rich_," he chortled, his hands resting on his knees. When he straightened his back, he gave her a wide, mischievous smirk. "Pun _fully_ intended. It's a funny little world we live in; _everything_ seems to fall into place am_idst_ the **chaos**."

Edith raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he was talking about. Seeing her confused expression, the Joker turned towards the mattress and raised one finger as if to say "just a minute." He rummaged through the heap again, tossing shirts and papers in every direction. He stopped when he came upon a piece of paper that had been crumpled into a ball and tossed it her way. It landed at her feet. Slowly, Edith tucked the revolver into her belt and unraveled the paper. It was an article from a newspaper, and although the ink was smudged and covered in water stains, the headline was clear: BRUCE WAYNE TO HOLD FUNDRAISER IN SUPPORT OF HARVEY DENT.

"What is this?" she asked skeptically. "You got a hard on for Bruce Wayne _and_ Harvey Dent?"

The Joker snickered. "_Nooo_, just_ Haaar_vey. And _Loeb_. And that one lady _judge_. _Maaaybe_ the mayor."

"Sounds like you get around quite a bit."

"Aw, _greeeen_ with envy, are we?"

Edith rolled her eyes. "How exactly does this fundraiser play into your little game?"

"You'll seeee. That little shin_dig_ is being held at the Wayne Tower tomorrow night. Get the rich boy to invite you. Need a, uh, _inside_ person; pretty young redhead will be less suspicious than one of my_ boys_."

"So you're planning on crashing the party?"

"Well, I'm _sure_ my invitation just got _lost_ in the mail," the Joker replied in mock hurt, turning his attention back to the TV. With little grace, he plopped in front of it, the tails of is coat flying out behind him like the train of a dress. Edith rolled her eyes again and began to pick up her money from the floor, but the Joker's high-pitched laughter grabbed her attention as the film on the TV resumed. She watched the footage briefly before putting the money stacks in her coat pocket and heading for the door.

"I'm giving you notice, right _now_," he called out. Edith turned from the door and looked at his back curiously. His eyes were glued to the TV in front of him. "Be back here at four, before _dawn_. No questions, _capeesh_?"

The sound of the door opening and closing was her only response.

* * *

><p>He told Alfred about his plans for that night when he returned home in the evening. He changed out of his black suit for something slightly less business-like. The older gentleman stood behind him as he threw on his gray jacket and adjusted the collar. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he caught Alfred's blue eyes watching him. They were filled with genuine surprise.<p>

"Giving up on Miss Dawes, sir?" he asked.

Bruce sighed. "I don't know, Alfred. I still have hope, but she _is_ with Harvey now. I think it's best to give her space."

Alfred smiled. "Perhaps you're right, sir. This new lady has grabbed your attention well enough, I see?"

Bruce smirked, nodding. He kept quiet about the fact that she reminded him of Rachel. It was not something he wanted to focus on. Saying goodnight to Alfred, Bruce took the keys to his corvette and left for the Grotto.

Edith wasn't there at eight when he arrived. Bruce was seated at a small table and ordered a glass of merlot as he waited. Facing the restaurant entrance, he was able to see who was entering, and the soft, classical music that played throughout the restaurant was not comforting as the minutes passed by. A waiter had come by and dropped off two menus, clearly unsure of whether or not he should offer to take his order.

Bruce sipped his wine and looked at his wristwatch: 8:25pm. If he was being stood up, it would be a first. Not many women turned down a date with him; in fact, _no_ woman, other than Rachel, had ever turned down a date with him. Edith was obviously something different, something he liked. In a sea of black and gray business suits, she had stood out in the most beautiful way possible, with her vibrant red hair and confident demeanor. She was a breath of fresh air; relief from the tension in his neck that had been building all week. He wanted so desperately to hold on to that feeling of calm.

Finishing his wine, Bruce stood to leave. His wristwatch now read 8:38pm. Placing money on the table, he began to make his way to the door, and was frozen in place at the woman who entered. She wore a long-sleeved, black dress that fell just above her knee, the fabric bunching fashionably at the waist before it dipped down to cover her pale legs. Her red hair was down, pinned on one side; its wavy length veiled the exposed skin of her back that the dress did not cover. Her blue eyes met him, and she smiled with red-painted lips. His mouth was unbelievably dry.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she said as she approached. "I don't think that cabi knew where he was going. Have you ordered yet?"

Bruce shook his head as he escorted her to the table behind him. "Not yet," he replied. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Edith flashed an apologetic smile as she sat down. He couldn't help but notice the cut at the corner of her mouth, masked by the red lipstick she wore.

"If there is one thing you should know about me, it's that I never say no to a free meal. Well, other than this morning, but looks like you won me over, Mr. Wayne."

"You know you can call me Bruce," he said with a smile, even though he liked the way she said his last name. She flipped through the menu briefly before deciding, and Bruce motioned for the young waiter to come over.

After they ordered, Edith rested her chin in one her hands. She seemed considerably more relaxed than she had this morning, and her voice was softer. "I did a little research on you. You're quite the entrepreneur."

"Well, I guess you could say it's in my blood. The business has been my family's legacy."

"And you're into politics too? I ask because I read a newspaper article about your endorsement of Harvey Dent. It surprised me," she said with a laugh. "You seemed disgusted when I assumed you were a lawyer."

He chuckled into his water glass. Taking a sip, he met her gaze. "Harvey is a good guy, and he's done good work for this city. You heard he arrested close to five hundred people today tied in with the mob?"

Edith's smile fell into a look of disbelief. "_What?_ You're _kidding_. How?"

"Just saw it on the news earlier today, so I'm not sure of the specifics, but Dent is ambitious. He's the kind of guy I can put my money behind. I'm holding a fundraiser for him this weekend."

"He must be pretty appreciative for that."

"Appreciative may be stretching it," Bruce quipped. "But he's as smart as he is ambitious. He won't turn down an opportunity like the one I'm giving him."

Edith surprised him by laying her hand on the table close to his. Their fingertips brushed lightly. Her head tilted to the side as she looked to him, her blue eyes flickering from the candle on the table. "I'll have to keep my eye on him," she said playfully. "In case I ever move back to Gotham, I'll need to know the facts before I vote for him."

The way her eyes fell on him caused his brain to freeze, a feat that very few women had been able to accomplish. She was stunning, mesmerizing, her features somewhat exotic. Their food came and went, and he was completely focused on her. Her voice flowed so easily, coaxing out his own words and forcing his muscles to relax. She was many things, he realized, and the more she talked and the more he relaxed, the more he knew how _dangerous_ she could be. How many men had she been able to wrap around her finger? The thought entered his mind as she answered one of his questions about her life outside of Gotham. He watched her lips move, the fullness puckering and stretching as she spoke. Her hand was soon squeezing his.

"Hey, did you hear me?"

Bruce looked from their hands to her. "I'm sorry?"

"I asked if you were OK," she replied, her expression unreadable. "Your eyes were all glossed over."

"I apologize. It has been a hectic day, but I'll admit, it's gotten _a lot_ better. "

That wasn't a lie, and Edith nodded, her eyes brightening with his words. The waiter came to clear their dishes, slipping the black folder that held the bill onto the table. Bruce grabbed it without hesitation. After paying, he followed Edith onto the concrete sidewalk outside. In the cold night air, she shivered.

"May I offer you a ride?" he asked. The valet had gone to pull his car around.

"The friend I'm visiting told me she would pick me up," Edith replied. "She already texted me and told me she was on her way."

"Well, I'm more than happy to wait until she gets here. Can't be too careful with the killer clowns and giant bats running around the city."

She laughed. "Rich _and_ funny; talk about a catch. But, no, she'll be here in a few minutes. I'll just wait inside." She moved to stand closer to him. "But I _am_ here for a few more weeks. When can I see you again?"

"Well, I'm not sure how much fun it would be for you, but that fundraiser for Harvey Dent is at eight tomorrow. If that doesn't work, how about dinner on Saturday?"

Edith grinned. "How about both?"

She reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. Taking his hand in hers, she scribbled her phone number onto his skin. The tip of the pen tickled his palm, and he looked at her with amusement.

"I feel like I'm in high school all over again."

She slipped her pen back into her purse, but her hand still held his. "Fun, right?" she whispered as she stepped closer.

She stood on her toes and placed a slow, longing kiss on the corner of his mouth. He must have looked surprised because she chuckled lightly when she pulled back from him. His corvette pulled up along the curb, and she let his hand slip out of hers.

"See you on Friday, Bruce."

* * *

><p>She waited fifteen minutes in the lobby before she exited the restaurant and hailed a taxi. It was 11:15pm. She had to be back at the warehouse in 5 hours, and decided to head over early after first stopping at the hotel; she wouldn't be able to sleep even if she tried. Asking the cabi to keep the meter running, Edith hurried into the hotel and up to her room on the fifth floor. She unzipped the newly bought black dress, trading it for a pair of blue jeans, long-sleeve gray shirt, and dirty sneakers.<p>

After leaving the warehouse earlier, she only had two hours to find something suitable to wear, get ready, and then head to the Grotto. She was lucky to have found a boutique shop down the street from the hotel that had a dress and shoes her size. Prior to coming to Gotham, she had packed her duffel bag full of comfortable, light-weight clothing, prepared for a distance kill. She hadn't anticipated seduction of any kind, but plans change.

Her thoughts turned to Bruce then. She hadn't lied to him about why she was late to dinner, she just didn't give the whole truth; that cabi _really_ hadn't known where the hell he was going. She definitely lied to him about everything else, though. She was proud that she had been able to play off the coy seductiveness, even if it hadn't been that hard to do. Bruce was a very attractive man, and while handsome, clean rich boys weren't exactly her type, she had a feeling he had some kind of secret. The thought had excited her. His hands were almost _too_ clean,_ too_ smooth, like he had never lifted a finger his entire life. That alone was suspicious. Part of her was excited to see him on Saturday because of this mystery, the other part was because she knew it would be a silent jab to the authority the Joker thought he had over her.

Returning to the taxi with her duffel bag, she felt her cell phone vibrate in the pocket of her jeans. A single text message from a blocked number made her blood run hot.

_Get lucky, cupcake?_

Of course he knew her number. He had been tracking Maroni's phone. Smirking, she sent her reply.

_Of course. I always do.  
><em>


	7. Age-Old Powerplay

Thank you for all those who have reviewed so far. I'm glad people are continuing to enjoy the story. Please keep your reviews coming, as it lets me know what you guys are liking about the characters so far and what I should improve on. In my head, I have a sequel and a TDKR connected with these characters, but one story at a time!

* * *

><p>The wind had picked up considerably. Edith huddled on the top of the warehouse stairs, the hood of her jacket shielding her face from the breeze. She knocked again, this time with a little more force, and the door swung open.<p>

"You ain't supposed to be here until four," Charlie said blankly. His massive bulk blocked her entry.

"He said to be here before dawn," Edith replied. "I'm pretty sure it's before dawn. Just let me inside. It's freezing."

Charlie moved, allowing her to enter. The warehouse was warmer, but not by much. Cold air seeped through the spaces of plaster board that covered the broken windows haphazardly. The men on the first floor were bundled in heavy coats, lounging on the mismatched couches and chairs that sat around an old TV. At the sound of footsteps descending the stairs, they looked to her. There were seven in total, many were either new or had been out earlier in the afternoon; Edith did not recognize all of them, but they still glared at her as she approached.

"You the mob hit-man?" asked one, his voice gruff. His long body was strewn across a loveseat, one leg dangling over an arm. He looked to her with a curious expression. His face was young, but his hair was the color of slate.

"I was, yes," she replied. She had stopped just shy of the group.

The lackey who had addressed her moved so that he was sitting on the couch, leaving an empty space beside him.

"Take a seat then," he said. He scooted closer to the arm of the chair as she hesitantly took a seat.

"Aw, well look at you being all chummy, Spade," growled another man. Edith _did_ recognize him. He was a short, stocky man with broad shoulders. Seated backwards in his chair, his legs hung over the sides and his hands gripped the wooden back.

Spade frowned. "She's here as one of us, Vinny."

"She's the reason Mack is dead!" Vinny spat back. "_And_ Gino. _And_ Frank. _And_.. that other kid."

"An occupational hazard, I'm sure," Edith responded smoothly. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "But then again, I've been in much worse situations and I'm still here, so maybe it's just natural selection at it's finest."

Growling, Vinny went to stand up, but Charlie stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be stupid, Vin," he said. He looked to Edith, his eyes narrowing. "I don't like you, but I can't say I wouldn't have done anything different had I been in your shoes." He took the empty chair next to Vinny before continuing. "Mack's dead because he did exactly what the boss told him not to do, and that _other kid_ was Bo."

"So why do ya think the boss want you here?" Spade asked Edith.

She ran a hand through her hair, breaking through the tangles. "All I know is that I'm the inside person for the Dent fundraiser and that I needed to be here before the ass crack of dawn."

All seven men nodded, as if they knew exactly what she was referring to. She waited expectantly for one of them to explain the plan, but no response came. "Are you guys going to tell me _anything_? He," she said, finger pointing to the ceiling, "sure as hell won't."

"The boss don't exactly plan anything," one lackey said; he called himself Axel. "He kinda just does what he wants and whatever sticks to the wall works, y'know?"

"No, not really. I've never operated that way." And the truth was, she hadn't. Had she had that mindset while on the streets or while working for the mob, she would either have ended up dead or arrested. She _had_ to be detailed, and she always had to have a plan.

"Ya gotta learn," Spade added. "We never know nothing until it's time to leave. Those dirty cops were here a couple times, though."

Vinny snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering something. "Yeah, that one old geezer cop came by early this morning with some weird items. A glass, a tissue, and a used coffee cup. Ya'll were asleep."

"So the Joker's got guys inside the police department?"

"_Oh yeah_," Axel replied. His stringy brown hair clung to his face. "More than ya think."

Edith nodded, and the group grew quiet, eyes drifting lazily back to the TV. Her eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, but she kept her focus on the violent action movie that was playing, her fingers idly picking at loose threads in the couch. Her mind drifted to the Joker, wondering if she was underestimating his power. He seemed to have his hands in all the cookie jars in Gotham, which, for a man who doesn't plan, was both impressive and frightening.

"So how does a pretty girl like you get tied up with the mob?"

She looked to Spade and felt seven pairs of eyes burning into her. "I'm not in the mood to tell you a bedtime story," she said after a moment, turning her attention back to the TV.

No one responded, and for a while, the only sound in the warehouse was the lullaby of TV gunfire.

* * *

><p>The sound of heavy dragging woke her from her dreamless sleep. She hadn't meant to drift off, but she had so with her head in her hand, and now her palm was covered in dried saliva. Bewildered by the sound that had suddenly stopped, she gazed around the dimly lit warehouse. The seven lackeys were asleep around her, sprawled on the couches and floor; Spade's head was tilted against the back of the couch, mouth open and snoring. Edith's eyes crawled upward to the second floor balcony when the sound returned.<p>

"Rise and _shiiine_, my sleeping bea-**_u_**-ties!"

With strength she didn't know he had, Edith watched as the Joker hulled the wanna-be Batman's body over the second floor railing. The corpse fell to the floor with a sickening crack, starting the men who had remained asleep. The clown cackled, hurrying to the stairs and sliding down the metal handrail. He hit the first floor clumsily, but composed himself as he swaggered towards his group of misfits. The men and Edith had gathered around the body. His cheeks had been carved with a blade to mimic the Joker's scars. His skin was covered in the now famous greasepaint.

"It's time to move, _boys_," the Joker instructed. He had reapplied his make-up, his tongue stained red as he licked the fresh wetness of his bottom lip. Spotting Edith, he smiled. "_And_ lady. Where _are_ my manners?"

He turned his attention back to the men, ordering them to pull the van around to the garage and put the body inside. The lackeys moved without hesitation and without question. Edith remained where she was. She watched them work until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She followed the purple glove up to the Joker's face. His eyes stayed on his men as they dragged the body out of the open garage.

"How good are you at distraction, hm?" he asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

Edith shrugged his hand off. "I don't know. If I'm distracting someone, it's usually because I've been hired to kill them, and those people aren't exactly able to give my performance a raving review."

He laughed, the sound deep and vibrating. "You got a sense of humor, cupcake. I'll give you tha-_t_. No killing tonight. Just, _distraction_, yes? Good."

He patted her back roughly, causing her to nearly choke on her own spit. He strode towards the garage door where the van now idled. Edith followed, slipping into the back after the Joker. The interior had been gutted, cloth seats replaced with metal benches. Various crates were crammed beneath them, and with no windows in the back, everything was black. The only light came in waves from the streetlamps above as Spade drove up towards the main intersection. Edith knew she was sitting next to the Joker because the scent of gasoline was strong. It left her feeling lightheaded. When she felt them speed up, she looked forward to see out the windshield. They were headed south across a bridge into downtown, and the corpse in the middle of the floor bounced with each bump and groove they hit.

"On the expressway, boss," Spade called out.

"Off at the second exit, then take the third right," the clown ordered.

Spade did as instructed. With her eyes adjusted to the dark, Edith could see the other men around her, their faces like stone. When the car turned right, they reached under their seats and pulled out the crates, donning their macabre clown masks and various weapons. The Joker stood, moving over the corpse so that he was crouched in between the driver and passenger seat.

He pointed ahead down the street. "Pull to the curb. Lights off."

The car slowed to a stop, and the lackeys immediately began slipping out of the van. The Joker turned to Edith.

"Von _Grunwald_ Tower," he stated plainly. "Home to our _lovely_ mayor. Go to the front of the building, distract the security guards, and open the back service door in the alley."

"How do you want me to distract them?" she asked. "Aren't the front doors locked?"

"You're a smart girl, _cupcake_. Figure it out."

He got out of the van, motioning for the lackeys to grab the corpse. Once they had the body, they quickly moved into the shadows of the alley beside the tower. Edith got out of the van, closing door behind her. She hurried into the alley, greeted by the stench of urine and rotten food that brought back undesired memories of her childhood.

The group had stopped beside the service door, shielded from the street by dumpsters and shadows. The alley spanned the length of the building, feeding out into the next street and the front of the tower. Edith stared down the dark corridor, trying to come up with the best method of distraction for a situation she knew nothing about.

Then, an idea struck her.

"Charlie," she whispered. "Where are you?"

She didn't know who was who with the masks, but her eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the darkness yet.

"I'm right next to you," Charlie replied, his voice muffled by his mask. "What?"

"Punch me."

"_What?_"

"I said punch me. In the face. As hard as you can."

"Are you fucking nuts?"

The Joker suppressed a laugh. "Do as the lady _says_, _Charles_."

Edith looked to the masked man on her right. His hesitation was making her irritated. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward.

"I _said_, punch me in the _fucking fa_ -"

Her words were cut off by the piercing pain of Charlie's fist slamming into her nose. She spun and hit the filthy asphalt, her hands scraping against the ground. The Joker was nearly bursting at the seams with glee, blood from her nose spilling onto his oxfords as she got to her hands and knees. His snickering sounded far away with her head buzzing, but Charlie's voice came in loud and clear.

"_Shit_. Are you OK?" he asked, his hand on her shoulder.

"_Don't_ touch me," Edith growled. She slowly got to her feet, her fingers gingerly touching her face. She could feel and taste the warm stickiness of her blood as it flowed over her lips. She looked at Charlie and smirked. "Good to see you have _some_ balls."

"Get _goin'_, already," the Joker said, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. "Make it fast."

Edith hurried down the alley, her hands tussling her hair to make it look messy. Her gray shirt had gotten torn when she hit the ground, and she quickly made the rip larger. By the time she made it to the street, she already had the fake waterworks flowing. She had no idea if this would work, but she was throwing the idea to the wall, hoping it would stick.

She scaled the long, concrete staircase towards glass doors. She could see the security station from where she stood, and she pounded loudly, her blood streaking on the glass. She screamed, pleaded for someone to open the doors and help her. Her voice was _superb_, weak and congested from the blood in her nose. A security guard peaked around from inside the office, his eyes widening at the sight of a bloodied woman in distress. He quickly rushed forward, opening the door and catching Edith as she stumbled inside. She fell to the floor, faking exhaustion. A second security guard was soon beside her.

"Jesus, what happened?" one guard asked.

Edith sobbed, her voice coming in hysterical huffs of breath. "H-He t-tried to k-k-kill m-me. P-Please, p-please help m-me."

The men helped her to her feet, her arm draped around one guard. They brought her to their office, setting her in one of the chairs at the desk.

"We need to call the police, Craig."

Edith looked to the guard by the door, her eyes frantic. "No! No! Please! He said he would kill me if I said anything. _Please_!"

Craig, the young guard who was kneeling beside her, took her hand. "Whoever he is, he can't hurt you, OK?" He looked to his comrade behind him. "Nick, let's just give her a minute to calm down."

"T-Thank you," Edith said quietly. Composing herself, she asked for a wet towel to clean her face, which Nick agreed to fetch. She then asked Craig for a bottle of water from the vending machine.

When Craig exited the office, she smirked. _Ignorant, naive men_, she thought. _Never suspecting a woman to be up to no good_.

Quickly, Edith turned to the computer behind her, which showed the views of multiple security cameras both inside and outside of the building. Thankfully, none looked into the alley. There were people roaming the halls, business men either working late or working early. At the sound of the guards' voices approaching, she quickly put herself on the ground, eyes closed and body limp.

"_Shit_," she heard Craig say as they entered. She soon sensed both men were kneeling beside her. One pressed two fingers to her neck. Before Nick could speak, she grabbed his fingers and twisted them painfully back, causing him to scream in pain and surprise. Her fist cracked against his jaw, sending him flying off to the side. Craig was on his feet, his hand reaching for his tazer. Edith swiveled on the floor, swiping one leg across his calves and knocking him off his feet. His head slammed into the wall beside him, and he slumped to the ground unconscious. His tazer was soon in her hand. She spun and pointed it up to Nick, who had just grabbed the desk phone. The young rookie fell to the ground when the barbs hit him, his body convulsing with the voltage that entered through his abdomen. After a few seconds, his screaming stopped. Edith set the tazer down, satisfied that the guard was unconscious; at least for the moment.

Rummaging through the drawers of the desk, she found packing tape. Not ideal, but it would have to do. With all the strength she could muster, she pulled Craig's heavy body over towards Nick's. After several attempts, she was able to prop them up back to back, securing them together with layers of tape. She wrapped their wrists and feet together and covered their mouths before closing the security office door and slinking through the quiet lobby. She had no idea where the service door was, but she assumed it would be in the basement.

She took the staircase by the elevators to level "B", where the corridors were eerie and quiet. She saw and heard no one as she followed the signs that read "Custodial Service", which ultimately lead into a large, open room that housed cleaning and janitorial supplies. The service door was tucked in the corner. She unlocked it and opened it quickly, stepping aside as the lackeys rushed in.

"Took you long enough," Vinny scoffed as he and Charlie carried the body inside.

"_Fuck you_. I got the job done. Security cameras are still up, and some people are in the halls upstairs."

The Joker sauntered in, gnawing on the inside of his scars as his eyes slowly scanned the room.

"Get back to the van," he ordered her, his tone lacking all amusement. The lackeys exited into the desolate corridors with the corpse.

"I just incapacitated _two_ men so you can go about your little circus," Edith growled, her fists clenching. "I'm _not_ leaving. I see my jobs _through_."

His eyes flashed with something frightening. In the darkness of the room, his hunched over form seemed massive. A deep growl slipped past his lips before he spoke. With each word, he stepped closer, and Edith stood her ground.

"Your _job_ is what I say it is, and, right _now_? Your job is to get back to the **van-****_nah_**."

They were close enough that her chest was brushing against his. His voice was lethal, overpowering, and utterly enthralling. Light from the hallway behind her illuminated his painted face partially, casting shadows over his scars and making them appear deeper than they were. Edith remained still, their silent battle for dominance exciting her in more ways than she cared to admit. If he wanted to kill her, he already would have made his move fifteen seconds ago. _No_, this was an age-old powerplay, a tactic all men used at least once in their lifetime. When the mob bosses used it, she only found herself angry.

This, on the other hand, was _fun_.

She smirked, feeling the dried blood crack as her skin stretched.

_He wants to play._

"Do I at least get a thank you, _boss_?" she asked coyly, her finger tips slipping in between the buttons of his green vest.

She saw a small smirk cross his lips before she found herself being violently slammed up against the wall. His body was pressed against hers, their lips millimeters apart. Her breath was coming in short, small gasps, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. The look in his eyes was venomous, but she felt her body betray her as a fire sparked in her loins. One gloved hand in her hair, the other on her waist, and she could smell his grease paint, the scent rancid and intoxicating. She wondered if he could smell her blood. While every instinct screamed at her to run, she couldn't, and her mind was buzzing by the sudden sensation of his scarred mouth on hers. She resisted at first, keeping her lips pressed into a tight line, unwilling to submit. But then she felt his tongue dance across her mouth, and all hope was lost. She met his tongue furiously with her own, the cut in the corner of her mouth breaking open. She gripped the fabric of his vest and pulled him into her, but he was suddenly laughing.

He ripped his mouth away and stepped back, his arrogant expression making her blood boil. Her face fell when she realized what he had just done.

"I _wiiiin_," he sang, his smile widening.

He adjusted his wrinkled vest and walked out of the room, leaving her breathless and fuming against the wall. From down the hallway, she could hear his words break up with laughter.

"Let's play that game again sometime!"


	8. Best Two Outta Three

Hope you all enjoy! Rated M now for a reason. _R&R_ always appreciated!

* * *

><p>His eyes were closed, the lulling sounds of distant traffic forcing his consciousness to acknowledge his lack of sleep. He nearly shit himself when someone rapped loudly and angrily on the window. Wide-eyed, Spade looked to the passenger door. He didn't recognize Edith at first, with her face swollen and covered in blood. He quickly unlocked the doors.<p>

"What the hell happened?" he asked frantically. Edith slipped into the front seat without a word. "You guys get compromised? Where is everyone else?"

"Please, shut up," she replied, her finger tips massaging her temples. Her head was throbbing. "No one is compromised. At least not when I left."

He eyed her bruise, bloodied skin.

"The boss do that to you?"

"No," she said with a short, sarcastic laugh. "Charlie did it. I told him to; had to make my act believable to the security guards."

"Damn, that's dedication if I've ever seen it, but why are you back here?"

"The _clown_. I'm not staying," she added quickly. She peered out the windshield into street ahead of them. "I'm getting a taxi and heading to my hotel."

"If the Joker said to -"

"_Spare me_. Please. I'm really not in the mood."

But she remained in the van, removing the dried blood from her face with the fabric of her shirt and what was left in the half-empty water bottle she found at her feet. She continued to ignore the lackey's questions, and after what seemed like hours, a yellow taxi turned the corner ahead. Without a word, Edith jumped from the van, slamming the door closed.

Spade watched her as she got into the sedan and disappeared down the street. The sky was beginning to brighten as the dawn faded into morning. Passing cars were beginning to grow more frequent, and with each passing minute, he was growing impatient and worried. She had been covered in blood and in a rush to leave; could she have actually gotten the upper hand on the guys and the boss? _Shit_. He wasn't sure.

He breathed a quick sigh of relief when he saw a group of huddled figures hurrying down the alley. The back door slid open and they tumbled inside, the Joker snaking his way in after them. Spade's foot was on the accelerator before the door could be closed.

"Where's the redhead?"

Spade looked into the rear view mirror and met the Joker's hardened gaze. He was chewing his scars, his chin tucked into his chest and making his eyes appear more sinister than usual. The lackey swallowed, hoping to remove the lump in his throat.

"She's probably reapplying her make-up," Vinny laughed, removing his mask. "Charlie smudged it up. Man, that musta felt good, huh?"

The lackeys laughed, Charlie included.

"Yeah, I'll admit it," he replied. "Felt pretty damn -"

"_Quie__**t**_."

Charlie's mouth slammed shut at the Joker's command.

"_Where is the redhead?_"

Every syllable was articulated, the words sharpened with lethal authority. Spade was quick to respond this time. His eyes darted from the road to the clown's reflection in the mirror as he merged the van onto the expressway.

"She, uh, said she was going to her hotel. I told her she shoulda waited."

He wasn't sure what was more frightening: when the boss smiled or when the boss scowled.

In that moment, with the way his jaw clenched and his scars curved down, Spade decided on the latter.

* * *

><p>The hotel lobby was empty, and Edith was able to slip into the stairwell without the front desk personnel seeing her. By the time she reached her bathroom, she was nude, her clothes strewn across the hotel room. She gripped the edge of the counter and glared at her reflection, her azure eyes filled with contempt and self-loathing. Blood still stained her face and neck; the right side of her face was swollen and bruised. She touched the tender flesh, trailing her fingertips down until she traced her lips. Her blood had dried to a dark crimson. But her lips, they were smeared with a familiar red stickiness, the memory of why making her skin burn and her legs numb.<p>

Growling, Edith tore herself from the counter and turned on the shower. She did not wait for the water to heat and gasped as the bitter cold hit her chest. Rust-colored water dripped down her naked form. She allowed her muscles to relax as the room filled with steam and she placed her palms against the wet tiles of the wall. Dipping her head, she watched the water pool at her feet, cursing herself for letting him get the upper hand. She blamed the adrenaline, the thrill of the job; she refused to admit anything else. Yet, the look in his eyes before he kissed her had been raw and unconcealed. It lasted a fraction of a second, but she had seen it: a moment of male weakness.

Edith chuckled softly as she lifted her head, allowing the water to cascade down her face once again. He may have won the battle, but he had given her ammo for the war.

After her shower, she threw on one of the hotel robes and grabbed ice from the machine down the hall, using a small waste-basket bag to create a make-shift ice pack. Sun was beginning to spill through the heavy curtains when she finally slipped beneath the covers, the fabric cooling her naked flesh. When the ice began to burn, she removed it from her face and repeated the process until sleep overtook her.

* * *

><p>Her eyelids felt heavy like concrete.<p>

With her face half-buried into her pillow, Edith opened one groggy eye and looked to the clock beside the bed: 11:14 AM. Slowly, she turned so that she was on her back. The hotel she had checked herself into after the Carlton was one of the extended-stay type places, which meant it was more of a small apartment. Her bedroom was separated from the combined kitchen/living area by a single door, which she had closed before going to bed. She could hear faint voices and music on the other side, like that heard in TV commercials, but she didn't remember turning it on. She told herself that she must've; she barely remembered the taxi ride, which told her she probably had a concussion.

Donning her white hotel robe, Edith opened the bedroom door and stepped into the next room. The TV on the wall was showing the eleven o'clock news, and the main story immediately caught her attention: BATMAN DEAD? They showed the wanna-be Batman's corpse as it was lowered down from the Von Grunwald Tower, the body secured by a noose. Eyes glued to the TV, Edith made her way over to the couch.

"It's a shame to watch with no popcorn."

She practically screamed in surprise, her body instinctively jumping back from the intruding voice. Across the room behind her, the Joker sat atop one of the kitchenette counters, his bare hands gripping the edge and his feet crossed at the ankles like a child waiting to be picked up from school. He gave her a lopsided smirk, his gaze crawling back up to the TV that was now playing his debut film. Her eyes were daggers; she hadn't even sensed that someone else was in the room.

"How the hell did you know where I was staying?" she snarled, her voice low. "And how did you get in here?"

The Joker chuckled and hopped off the counter. His gloves and purple trench coat had been removed, tossed to the floor beside him, and he hadn't bothered to reapply his greasepaint. The red of his mouth was smeared, having transferred to her own skin only hours ago. She clutched the sides of her robe to her body and her scowl deepened as he slowly sauntered over. He stopped when he reached the couch, leaving a few feet between them. She was half-listening to the TV, catching the clown's ultimatum to Batman.

"Secrets, secrets are so fun," he crooned softly, his eyes grazing over the bruising on her face. "I'm a little hurt that you gave _Charles_ the honor of maiming that delica-_te_ little face of yours, and not me."

"Jealous, are we?" Edith quipped. She regretted her words when his smirk deepened and he inched closer. It was then she realized that the sleeves of his busy, hexagon-patterned shirt were rolled up, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. It was the most skin she had seen of him, and she quickly tore her eyes away. "What do you need?" she asked quickly, her tone professional. "I assume this is something business related?"

"Can't a guy just check in on his lady? You ran off like a, _little mouse_, and I _am_ a gentleman, you know."

Her jaw clenched at his words, possessive and condescending. His arrogance was nauseating and electrifying at the same time. She didn't fail to notice that he had inched forward just a little more, closing the gap between them. She kept her feet planted, just as she had the previous night. She had been caught off guard then, but she was ready if he tried to show his male dominance again. Looking down on her, he licked his left scar and let his eyes roll to the ceiling.

"Fundraiser's tonight," he said, lips smacking. "Warehouse at _seven, _and wear something, hm, _not_ revealing."

"That's all?" Edith replied, watching as he turned and gathered his trench coat and gloves from the floor. "You could have just sent me a text with that."

The clown unrolled his sleeves and threw on his coat. "Ah, but I'm a _gentleman_, remem_ber_?"

"Nice try. You're just full of _shit_. You just wanted me to know that you could track me down."

The Joker laughed, clapping his gloved hands in mock admiration. "Con_graaa_tulations," he enthused, "be sure to stop by later and get your _prize_ for being so _clever_, hm?"

Arms crossed, she watched him walk out the door.

She was going to _love_ getting even.

* * *

><p>She bought a plum-colored evening dress that hugged the curves of her thighs and hips before loosening at her knees. It was sleeveless, fabric stretching up and covering one of her shoulders elegantly. Silver jewels studded her mid line. She had wrapped her hair in a loose bun, free tendrils tickling the back of her neck and face. It had taken layer upon layer of foundation, but she had been able to conceal her darkening bruise. With a little more ice and a lot of Advil, the swelling had practically disappeared.<p>

Bruce had called her in the afternoon, asking if he could pick her up for the fundraiser. She lied, of course, telling him she would be with her friend until eight o'clock. She made it a point to tell him how excited she was to see him again.

Edith carefully scaled the warehouse stairs, holding the front of her dress as so not to trip over it. The Joker told her 7:00, so she decided to arrive at 7:15 instead. _Little victories_, she told herself. Surprisingly, the warehouse door was unlocked. Upon entering, she found all of the lackeys on the first floor. Among them was another, older man with receding, white hair. They all glanced her way as she descended the stairs, eyes widening.

"This the girl?" the older man asked, his expression stoic.

"Uh, yeah, that's her," Charlie replied, his attention refocused. The man nodded and motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. In his hands, he held a small device with black wire.

Edith looked to him with one raised eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Michael Wuertz. Detective," he added. He held up the gadget in his hand. "Joker wants you to wear a wire. Police-grade. Told me to come upstairs with you when you got here."

"I'm takin' you and some others in the utility van," Spade added. "The rest are gonna be in the surveillance van with Wuertz and the boss."

Edith nodded and followed the detective up the stairs. She felt the others' eyes burning into her curves, and it made her feel hopeful; the color of her dress wasn't a coincidence. When they reached the room on the second floor, Wuertz knocked once and opened the door. The halogen lights were brighter than ever, and Edith squinted against the glare.

The Joker was sitting in the chair behind the desk, his feet propped up on the tabletop. Arms folded, he watched as the redhead entered, his eyes traveling down the length of her form. He held up a hand when Wuertz began to walk towards him with the wire outstretched. The detective halted with a puzzled expression.

"Put it on her."

Wuertz's face fell slightly. "I thought -"

"Wire her u**_p_**, _detective_."

When Wuertz didn't move, Edith uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, her eyes never breaking from the clown's. Along with clown and stalker, she was adding pervert to his list of specialties. His expression was arrogant and amused, taunting her to play. She stopped in front of the desk, just in front of Wuertz.

Slowly, she slipped the fabric of the dress off her one shoulder.

"You heard him," she said, her voice smooth. When she finally broke her heated stare, she glanced at the man behind her. He was clearly uncomfortable, his face growing red when Edith smiled. She looked down her shoulder to the zipper of her dress, then back up at him. "Would you mind?"

The sound of the zipper was deafening in the tense silence, and when the dress fell to the floor in a puddle of purple fabric, Edith stepped out of it gracefully. Freshly-painted black eyes bore into hers with the same deadly intensity as the night before. Wuertz quickly began to secure the wire to her bare skin, his fingers avoiding the fabric of her strapless, black bra and black underwear. When he finished taping the microphone to her sternum, he stepped away.

"Done, boss."

The Joker shooed him away with a wave of his hand. "Leave."

When Wuertz was gone, the clown moved so that both feet were on the ground. With raised his brow, his scars puckered in a grin. "You pick that color for me, cupcake?"

Edith smiled, her heels rapping against the hard floor as she walked around the desk. His eyes had yet to stray from hers, his control unwavering. She leaned her low back against the edge of the desk, and her knees grazed against his purple slacks as she slowly lifted herself up to sit on the smooth wood. She had a heeled foot danging on either side of his thighs, her ankles rubbing the hard muscles slowly. His trench coat was draped over the back of his chair, and he leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes forever connected to hers. Neither spoke, but then he leaned forward, the muscles of his forearms contracting, his smile deepening.

"Feeling bol-"

She cut off his words by quickly, and gracefully, sinking down so that she now straddled his lap firmly. He uncrossed his arms, holding them out to his side as if admitting defeat, but Edith knew better. He was resisting, maintaining control. She gripped the fabric of his vest.

"You really are, _something else_, Eddie baby," he chuckled softly. "_So_ willing to bring my_ little game_ to the next level, but you know I've already _won_."

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and laughed. When she returned his gaze, her laugh still lingered on her lips, and it was then she saw it; that sudden, recognizable flash in his eyes. She felt the muscles in his thighs contract, and she responded by grinding herself against the unmistakeable hardness between her legs. His smile faltered slightly.

"You're a funny guy, you know that?" she whispered, tasting the red greasepaint of his scars as she lightly brushed her lips against his skin. "You can keep your eyes from wandering, and you can keep your hands to yourself, but_ I know_ that what I'm feeling now? It's not a _gun_ in your pocket."

His hands moved to grip her hips, but Edith simply chuckled and jumped off of him. She was surprised that he remained seated as she moved to put her dress back on. His arms were once again folded over his chest. She had expected him to be violent in some way, hit her, stab her, threaten her with a gun, but he did none of these things. Instead, he watched with amused, interested eyes as she slipped the purple fabric back over her curves. She secured the tiny black device so that it sat beneath the jeweled portion of the dress, rendering it nearly undetectable.

"We're even now, _boss_," she said as she moved towards the door. She turned to face him. "Score is 1-1."

The Joker snickered, seemingly unfazed by what had happened.

"Mmm, best two outta three?"

Despite herself, Edith laughed.

She left the room, zipping up her dress as she strode triumphantly down the hall.


	9. One Big, Happy Family

Longest chapter yet! Lots of dialogue from the movie, and I try to include landmarks that I know are in the DC Universe. Setting up characters and relationships. That being said, I own nothing but my OC.

Please let me know what you guys think so far by R&R!

* * *

><p>The lackeys were filling the van with guns and ammo when Edith returned to the first floor. Grabbing her duffel bag, she followed Spade out to the utility van, taking note of the unmarked, white van across the street where Wuertz was fiddling with the electronics. The streetlamps hummed melodically above, providing sporadic light as the men worked to gather what they needed. Edith stood off to the side, enjoying the feel of the cool air against her flushed skin. The adrenaline was coming down, and the excited fluttering that plagued her chest was beginning to diminish. She had been able to control her actions and outward expression with their Joker, but their heated game still left her breathless and hungry. While she had hoped he would respond to her ministrations and her taunts, she hadn't expected to like his reaction; not when she had the control. She would deny to any and all that her carnal instinct had actually enjoyed the feeling of him.<p>

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps behind her. The Joker emerged from the darkened warehouse, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He stopped beside her and watched as his lackeys finished loading the van. Edith kept her attention forward, but faltered when she felt his palm pressing into her low back.

"Announce when the guest of _honor_ arrives," he said, leaning in closely. "And keep him in your sights." He pulled back, and the sudden loudness of his voice caught her off guard. "Charlie! Kerr! With _me_."

The two men followed the clown across the street while the others piled into the utility van. Edith slipped into the back with them. Wuertz drove, following Spade as they careened through the streets of Gotham. No one spoke, and the silence seemed eerie and unnatural.

"So, I'm thinking my only job is to stand and look pretty tonight," she joked, "which is fine. I get paid either way."

"We all getting paid more now," laughed Vinny. He and Axel shared a high five, and Edith's eyes narrowed from across the van.

"What do you mean by 'now'?"

"Joker got hired to kill Batman," Axel replied. He donned his clown mask, his greasy brown hair slicking back by the tie. "The mob musta gotten desperate with you out. Shit, man!" he exclaimed suddenly. "They're giving him close to ninety million! On top of what he already sto -"

"Ya'll no better than to talk about that money," Spade called out from the front seat. His eyes glanced at the group in the rear view mirror.

Lou, the thug sitting next to Edith, spoke up. "Calm your tits, Spade. The boss ain't even in here."

"Eddie's wearing a wire, smart ass."

Lou's eyes widened, his regret evident. He was a middle-aged, heavy weight man with a bald head. The masks wouldn't fit across his chubby face, so he covered his features in paint: white skin, black diamonds over his eyes. Despite her annoyance for not being told about the mob, she couldn't help but laugh at the thug's fearful expression.

"They're about three miles behind us," she chuckled. "I doubt the wire will work from that far."

Spade pulled the van along the curb and turned the headlights off. They were about three blocks from Wayne Tower. Limos and expensive cars lined the street ahead, with high-class, high-money snobs pouring out. Edith rose to exit the van, but Vinny stopped her.

"Gotta wait," he said, his arm outstretched across the door. "Gotta make sure the wire is actually working."

Edith rolled her eyes and sat back down. Through the heavily tinted back windows, they could see headlights approaching in the distance. The white surveillance van pulled to the curb a block away. The headlights went dark, and Spade's cell phone rang. He answered it, the deep voice on the other end grumbling some order.

Turning in his seat, Spade looked to Edith. "Alright, say something, but keep your voice quiet."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, the words passing through her smirked lips. "Testing, testing; best two outta three."

The thugs' befuddled expressions were hidden by their disguises. Spade had the phone to his ear, and gave Edith a thumbs up before flipping the phone closed.

"Good to go," he said. "Just remember that the boss can hear everything you say."

Edith got up from her seat and carefully made her way out of the van, making sure not to trip over the hem of her dress. Before closing the door, she looked to Spade, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You know, I really hope you're right."

* * *

><p>From his seat, he watched her as she strode down the sidewalk, her hips swaying with each step. He subconsciously rubbed the inside of his scars with his tongue. <em>Such a distraction<em>, he thought. And yet, there was something so _corruptible_ about her. She acted like she was on his level; a young, fierce doe-eyed little woman? _No_, he was _leagues below_ her. But, she had shown him just how far down the rabbit hole she wanted to go, with the way she played their game. She was teetering on the brink of madness and all she needed was a little _push_.

* * *

><p>She waited in the line of finely-dressed people that stood outside Wayne Tower. Men in black suits stood by the entrances, checking names of guests on clipboards. Edith had expected to feel under-dressed, and was surprised by how well she fit in. A couple of women complimented her attire, and all she could think was that their jewelry cost as much as her rehab stints had. When Edith finally reached the front of the line, the middle-aged man looked to her and then his clipboard.<p>

"Name, miss?"

"Edith Green."

His hazel eyes scanned through the list.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Green, but I'm afraid I don't see your name."

Before she could speak, an older gentleman approached from inside. His eyes were soft and kind, his white hair neatly combed. He wore a similar black suit as the man with a clipboard, and when he spoke, his British accent was clear.

"Ah, Gerald, Ms. Green is most definitely welcome," he said with a smile. He motioned for Edith to come through into the tower lobby. She returned his smile, though her expression conveyed her confusion as to who he was.

"I don't believe we've met?" she asked as she followed his steps to the elevators.

"My apologies, ma'am. My name is Alfred. Master Wayne asked me to stand in the lobby and look for a beautiful, young redhead, and well, here you are. He should be arriving shortly."

She and Alfred entered the elevator, sharing the car with an elderly couple. He pushed the button for the forty-seventh floor.

"Has Harvey Dent already arrived?" she whispered after a moment. "I've never met him, but Bruce says wonderful things."

At this, Alfred chuckled. "Not yet, Ms. Green." He paused. "And I'm sure what Master Wayne said was indeed_ wonderful_."

The tone in his voice was hinted with sarcasm and his eyes glinted with humor. Despite not knowing the depth of the subtle joke, Edith chuckled. From what Bruce had told her, it was clear he wasn't fond of Harvey, but at the very least he respected the man's political stance and determination. The elevator car slowed before reaching the forty-seventh floor. It came to a smooth halt, and when the doors slid open, Edith was blown away by the enormity and elegance of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows over-looked the city, and small, golden lights were draped over the walls. Candles littered the high, round tables where people sat and conversed, drinking wine and champagne. A gentle tap on her shoulder brought Edith out of her trance, and she looked to Alfred as he handed her a crystal champagne flute. She took it hesitantly, not wanting to risk her sobriety, but she had to keep her facade believable.

"Do you know anybody here, Ms. Green?" Alfred asked. "Master Wayne mentioned you were visiting. He is quite fond of you, you know," he added with a wink.

"That's because he doesn't know me very well," Edith said truthfully, but Alfred chuckled. "And no, I'm afraid I do not know anyone here, but I'm told I can mingle with the best of them."

Alfred nodded and excused himself, taking his tray of champagne flutes over to a group of guests that had just arrived from downstairs. Amongst the group Edith recognized him immediately; his blonde hair was unmistakable. Harvey ducked through the crowd with a pretty brunette on his arm, who seemed to be poking fun at his nervousness. The woman caught the eye of someone she knew, and Harvey was soon alone, looking like a child lost in a department store. She doubted that "announce when the guest of honor arrives" meant making a scene, so she casually walked up to him.

"By the look on your face, I'd say you're Harvey Dent," Edith stated. He looked to her curiously, smiling to be polite. "If it makes you feel any better," she continued, "I don't know anyone here either. The guy that invited me isn't even here yet."

"Bruce Wayne invite you?" Harvey asked, taking a rather large sip of his champagne. "Typical that he would be late to the event he's hosting."

"You know Bruce well, I take it?"

Harvey laughed. "Actually, I don't know him at all."

His brunette date soon returned, her smile wide. She looked to Edith, then back to Harvey. "See? And you thought you wouldn't know anybody."

"We actually just met," Edith replied. "Bruce spoke highly of Gotham's D.A., so I thought I would introduce myself. I'm Edith."

The woman's blue eyes widened, her expression suddenly very coy. "So _you're_ the Edith that Alfred told me about. _Very_ nice to meet you. Name's Rachel."

Despite herself, Edith blushed. "I didn't realize my reputation would precede me after one date."

"You went on a date with Gotham's most eligible bachelor," Rachel replied with a laugh. "Expect a lot more -"

The sounds of an approaching helicopter grabbed everyone's attention and cut off Rachel's words. Gasps of awe filled the room when Bruce emerged with three very tall, model-like women on his arm. Edith wanted to laugh out loud, but caught her voice on her tongue. The little she knew of Bruce Wayne was enough that she shouldn't have been surprised by his gaudy entrance. There was some bitter rivalry between him and Dent, which was obvious and subtle at the same time. She shook her head as the bachelor entered the penthouse. _Host a fundraiser for a man and then go and make yourself the center of attention. Classy._

Bruce greeted the room. "I'm sorry that I'm late. I'm happy to see that you all got started without me. Now, where is Harvey?" he asked, swaggering around the room, eyes gazing across the sea of faces. When he found the young D.A., his smile only grew. "Harvey Dent, man of the hour. _And_ Rachel Dawes - she is my _oldest_ friend."

Edith looked to the couple, intrigued by the annoyed and embarrassed look on Rachel's face. Bruce continued with his grandiose speech, capturing everyone's attention and placing Dent on a pedestal.

"I started to pay attention to Harvey Dent, and all that he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? _I believe in Harvey Dent_. I believe that on his watch," Bruce explained, "Gotham can feel a little safer and a little more optimistic. Look at this face; this is the face of Gotham's bright future. To Harvey Dent, let's hear it for him."

The room erupted into clapping, eyes and smiles turned to Dent. Guests crowded around him, all wanting to introduce themselves and talk of money and donations. Catching sight of Bruce walking onto the balcony, Edith excused herself from the crowd and followed him. He leaned against the railing, his back facing her as she slowly opened the glass door. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked over his shoulder.

"Had I known you would have picked me up in a helicopter, I would have reconsidered your offer," Edith said with a smirk. She leaned against the railing beside him. "Then again, I'm not really the sharing kind, but, I'll give you some credit. Your three stooges are _very_ pretty."

Bruce chuckled. "That was all for show. Last minute plans." He looked to her, his dark eyes sparkling with the lights of the city. "I'm glad you came. You look beautiful."

Edith gave him a genuine smile. "Thank you. You look, _decent_," she jested, sharing his laugh.

He moved so that he was facing her, one arm resting against the balcony railing, the other taking one of her hands. His palms were soft and warm, despite the chill in the air.

"Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I'm not the sharing ki -"

Her words were lost in his mouth. His lips pressed against hers in a soft, yet brutal, way, and before she could comprehend what was happening, she found herself returning his gesture. She opened her mouth, marveling at the heat of his tongue as he deepened their kiss, one hand now on her low back, bringing her body flush with his. In that moment, she forgot where she was, who she was, and what she was supposed to be doing. He pulled back slowly, stopping so that their lips barely grazed together when he spoke.

"I'm not the sharing kind either."

The husky seduction in his voice sent an unwanted wave of desire down her legs. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of the glass door opening caught the couple's attention.

"I don't mean to interrupt," Rachel said as she stepped onto the balcony, "but Bruce, you and I really need to talk."

Edith graciously took the excuse to leave the balcony, hurrying into the penthouse without looking back. Spotting Harvey across the room, she remembered that she was wearing a wire. Her face grew hot, and without hesitation, she drank her champagne until the flute was dry. She focused her attention on the job, keeping track of the D.A.'s movements. She watched as he joined the two friends on the balcony for a brief moment before reentering the penthouse with Rachel.

"Care for another drink, miss?"

A waiter stood by her side, a full glass of champagne in his outstretched hand. Politely declining, Edith turned her attention back to where she had last seen Dent and Rachel, but they were gone. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, but Dent was nowhere in sight.

_Shit. _She had no idea how long she was supposed to babysit the man or what exactly the Joker had planned. Near the balcony doors, she saw Alfred speaking with Bruce, and the look on the entrepreneur's face was one of apprehension. His features hardened with each passing second until he was hastily making his way through the crowds, disappearing around a corner. Edith moved to follow him, and she made it halfway across the hall before the sound of a shotgun made her muscles freeze. The Joker had made his grand entrance, and the thugs moved quickly to secure the room, blocking the elevators and snatching valuables from the guests.

"_Goooood_ evening, ladies and gentle_men_. We are tonight's entertainment!" the clown exclaimed loudly. He swaggered with long, animated steps. He took a piece of food off an appetizer tray and chewed it, lips smacking. "I only have one question. _Where is Harvey Dent_?"

The hall was absolutely silent. The Joker waited briefly before lazily pointing his shotgun at the groups, stalking amongst the line of horrified guests. Edith watched as he took his turn with each person in front of him, berating them with the same question. He stepped up to an older gentleman, his mouth full of food once again.

"You know," he smacked, "I'll settle for his loved ones."

"We're not intimidated by _thugs_."

From where she stood, Edith could see the Joker's eyes narrow and his lips purse together at the man's words. Slamming his champagne flute down, the clown rose to his full height so that he was eye to eye with the guest. With switchblade in hand, he grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, forcing him closer. He growled something Edith couldn't hear, and a familiar voice soon rose beside her.

"OK, stop!"

Rachel took a step in front of the group, and she immediately had the Joker's attention.

"Well, _hell_ooo, _beautiful_," he drawled, patting his green hair down. He moved towards Rachel, his switchblade pointing in her direction. "_You_ must be Harvey's _squeeze_. And you are _beautiful_." He circled her like a buzzard, and she winced at the lack of space between them. "_Aw_, you look _nervous_. Is it the scars? Wanna know how I got 'em? _C'mere_."

He took Rachel by the scruff of the neck, forcing her to look at him as she struggled against his grip. His switchblade was dangerously close to her face, the sharp metal shaking against her skin as he held her and spoke of his scars. It was deja vú, but with a different story this time, Edith noted with amusement. She hid her smirk as he spoke of a depressed, scarred up wife and his grand, gruesome attempt to make her smile. He got points for originality, a ring leader if she had ever seen one. He ended his tall tale with a smile, and Rachel responded by kneeing him in the groin. The Joker doubled over, his laughter coming in short bursts.

"A _little_ fight in you," he snickered as he stood. The tip of his blade shook towards her. "_I like that_."

"Then you're gonna love me."

Suddenly. the clown was knocked back by a hard punch to the chest. Edith hadn't seen him emerge from the shadows, but Batman had arrived and was soon entangled in a fight with Vinny and Lou. Batman's movements were fast and powerful, his fists black blurs as he struck down the two lackeys. The Joker grabbed Axel, who had been keeping the crowd in check, and pushed him towards the vigilante. Axel immediately jumped on the bat's back, holding him as best he could as the Joker unsheathed a blade from his oxford and sunk it into Batman's abdomen.

As the fight continued, Edith saw Spade approaching her with gun in hand, recognizing him by his mask. Without warning, he gripped her hair painfully, forcing a gasp from her throat. He pulled her into him, gun to her temple.

"You're comin' with us when this is over," he whispered through his mask. "Play along."

Edith feigned a helpless scream as Spade pulled her by her hair, dragging her across the hall. For a brief moment, she saw Batman look to her, but the Joker soon had his attention, as he was holding Rachel Dawes hostage by the window. With a single bullet, the glass shattered, and he held the brunette halfway out the building.

Batman's voice was deep and guttural. "Let her go."

"Very poor choice of words," the Joker replied. Cackling, he loosened his grip and Rachel fell back out the window, screaming as she slid off the roof. Batman disappeared after her.

Spade's hold on Edith's hair tightened, and he began to pull her towards the elevators. He held his gun out towards the guests brave enough to step up and try to help her. The other lackeys did the same, keeping the crowd in control as they piled into the elevators. The Joker rushed in before the doors slid closed.

"Damn it, Spade, you can let go of me now," Edith growled as they began their descent. She pushed him away from her, wincing as strands of hair were torn from her scalp. With everyone shoulder to shoulder, she lost her footing, and her back slammed into the Joker's chest. She felt his gloved hands wrap around her bare arms before he shoved her off, forcing her onto her two feet.

"Fuck, I think Batman broke my arm," Axel cried, his hand gripping his bicep. He was hunched over next to the Joker, his back against the wall. Laughing, the Joker grabbed the thug by his injured arm and threw him to the floor, kicking him repeatedly until the elevator car slowed to a stop. When the doors slid open, they rushed out, and Axel stumbled behind them. The lobby was deserted, and the sounds of distant police sirens could be heard a few blocks away. The utility van now sat across the street.

"Where to, boss?" Spade called out as he slipped into the driver's seat.

The Joker crammed himself into the back of the van with his team, slamming the door closed. "Amusement Mile," he ordered.

"That's on the other side of the city," Edith replied. She was sitting uncomfortably close to Lou and a sobbing Axel. "Don't you think the police will catch us?"

He situated himself on the floor of the van in between the two benches, his arms draped over his knees. "Not if we drive _fast. Right, _Spadey-boy?"

"Right, boss!"

Edith rolled her eyes, growing incredibly irritated. Not only had she lost sight of Dent, but now her scalp was bleeding. For a moment, the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the neighboring traffic, but then Axel's soft cries of pain reached her ears.

"Will you stop your blubbering?" she snapped, her temper boiling. "It's just a broken arm. Man the _fuck_ up."

"Mind your own fucking business, bitch," Vinny shot back in defense from across the van.

Spade glared at the group through the rear view mirror. "Ay, don't talk to a lady li -"

"At least I did my job," Axel said, scooting away from the red head slightly. "She lost Dent."

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'll break your other arm, you whiny piece of shit."

"_Ah, ah, ah_, children," Joker cackled from the floor. "Let's all be one big, _happy_ family, hm? I know, how 'bout we play the _quiet_ game. Staarting, _now_."

The silence that ensued was like music.

* * *

><p>Amusement Mile was a rundown portion of Gotham, whose poverty rivaled that of the Narrows, and was settled along the water of the northern stretch of the Gotham River. At one point, the area had been a thriving amusement park that brought the city a substantial amount of money, but it had gone bankrupt decades ago. As a young girl, before she worked for the mob, Edith would often go to the area to get high with the other homeless teens, and they would play on the rusty, dilapidated rides.<p>

Seeing the old "Amusement Mile Welcomes You" sign brought back a series of memories, most of which she did not want to recall.

Once deep into the park, Spade pulled the van along the back side of an old building and turned the engine off. Despite having passed a few cop cars along the way, it seemed no one had followed them. This didn't surprise Edith, not after what she overheard. At one point during the ride, the Joker got a phone call, the volume loud enough for Edith to hear Wuertz's voice; she was able to make out the names Loeb, Surillo, and the word "dead" before the clown hung up. The police had their hands full.

When the van came to a halt, the Joker hopped out immediately, arching his back so that the joints cracked. The thugs followed, bringing the crates of masks and weapons with them.

The building looked as if it had one point been a hotel, two stories with rows of doors and windows leading to the outside. It was nestled between a food court and a run-down amphitheater. An old, outdated vending machine lay broken on the concrete ground in front of what was once the hotel lobby. Places like these were usually home to prostitutes and drug addicts. Edith knew this from experience, but the rooms of this hotel looked completely empty - doors closed, windows boarded up. Graffiti littered nearly every surface, but there were no other signs of life. While his men waited outside, the Joker stepped through the broken glass door leading into the lobby and walked around the wooden counter. With his shotgun, he blew the padlock off a cabinet, the sound echoing painfully into the night. He threw the cabinet doors open and grabbed a handful of keys before returning to the group.

"I want, _this one_," he said, letting all but one key fall to the ground.

Without a word, he moved towards the end of the building towards his room. The lackeys fought over the keys excitedly like boys arriving at summer camp. Sighing, Edith watched them with little enjoyment; she was suddenly exhausted.

A short, high-pitched whistle caught her attention, and she looked back over her shoulder. The Joker stood in front of his door, one finger beckoning her in a "come hither" motion. The way the moonlight hit his face, it looked as if his white greasepaint was glowing in the dark, and she could see that his expression lacked all amusement.

Throwing her duffel bag back over her shoulder, Edith grumbled.

_Great._


	10. Till Next Time

**Rated M for a reason**, everyone! Violence, sex, the works. Hope people are still enjoying the story. Let me know what you think so far!

**If you don't like M scenes, then don't read. You've been warned.**

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><p><em>She brought her daughter into the dingy hotel bathroom, setting the young girl on the lid of the broken toilet. With wide blue eyes, the seven-year-old redhead looked to the brunette woman, whose pupils were dilated and whose expression was gaunt and riddled with worry. The tiles of the wall were covered in mildew, tiles shattered and broken. The faucet in the sink dripped rust-colored fluid. The woman peeked out past the bathroom door before turning and kneeling in front of the girl.<em>

_"No matter what, ya stay in here, got it?" she said quickly. _

_The little girl nodded, but her eyes were full of fear. She had never seen her mama like this; she usually had pretty color on her eyelids and lips, but now her skin was pale and sallow. Her clothing was nothing more than rags, and she usually wore bright, sparkly outfits._

_"What's wrong, mama?"_

_"Shh, don't ask questions, baby girl. You stay in here. Keep that door locked. I'll get you when it's time."_

_The woman placed a kiss on the young girl's forehead before getting up and placing their two duffel bags on the floor by the bathtub. They had always moved from place to place, each day a new adventure, but their homes had always been a little nicer than this. This place smelled; the other places didn't smell. The young girl crinkled her nose in disgust. Her mother locked the bathroom door on the inside before turning off the light and closing it. Only a few minutes past before there was loud banging on the hotel door, followed by the shouts of an angry man. Despite being in the bathroom, she could hear his words clearly, as if he were right next to her; she recognized his voice._

_"Where the hell you been, huh? I put you on 4th and Seward tonight."_

_"A john wanted more privacy and invited me here, I swea -"_

_A sudden and loud clap made the young girl jump. She heard her mother gasp, her breathing heavy. Then, she screamed._

_"You think you can lie to me and get away with it, bitch?"_

_"I ain't lyin', Ricky!"_

_Another loud clap. "I heard you'd be here. You plannin' on running away with your brat, with my money? That ain't happening, and it's time I teach you a lesson. I know that brat is in here somewhere."_

_Heavy footsteps were approaching the bathroom door, and the young girl took refuge in the stained bathtub, pulling the shower curtain closed. She curled her tiny frame into a tight ball, listening to the struggle that ensued. Her arms hugged her body tightly; she couldn't stop shaking.  
><em>

_"Don't you dare touch her! I'll kill you if you touch her!"_

_Something slammed into the bathroom door, nearly breaking it off its hinges. The sound of breaking glass shattered any feelings of safety the tub provided. She began to cry, but the unmistakeable popping of a gun forced her silence. From the tub, she carefully listened to retreating footsteps and the slamming of the hotel door. She wasn't sure how long she laid there, unblinking and staring at the yellowing porcelain of the tub. _

You stay in here. You keep that door locked.

_And that's what she was going to do. She had always been told that baby girls were supposed to listen and do what their mamas told them to do. She knew if she stayed still, her mama would knock on that door._

_She must've fallen asleep because sudden pounding on the bathroom door woke her with a start. She sat up in the tub, a mixture of happiness and fear flooding through her tiny body. When a man's voice pierced through the door, her elation disappeared._

_"Is there anyone in there?" _

_The handle of the bathroom door twisted, the sound forcing her to lay back down into the tub. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the man away._

_"Gotham PD! Is there anyone in there? Open the door or it will be broken down!"_

_She didn't move. With her body curled, she flinched when the door cracked by force, and flinched again when the broken wood slammed into the wall. Paralyzed, her breathing slowed._

I'll get you when it's time.

_The shower curtain was pushed to the side. Only then did the girl look up, her eyes staring down the barrel of a gun._

_"Jesus," the officer said, quickly holstering his weapon. He called out, his voice distraught. "We got a kid in here!" He slowly knelt to one knee by the tub. He was middle-aged, and his brown eyes were framed, soft and compassionate; so unlike the eyes of the men she was used to seeing. A brown mustache framed his upper lip. _

_"Hey there," he said gently, "I'm Jim. What's your name?"_

_With her fear dissipating, the redhead sat up. Her hair was long, wild and unkempt. She responded to his question with a shrug._

_"You don't have a name?"_

_"Mama calls me 'baby girl.'"_

_The man smiled, but his eyes were sad. She already knew what waited for her outside the bathroom._

_"My mama's dead."_

_Jim looked to the ground, then back up to her. "I'm sorry, baby girl," he said. "I'm gonna take you outta here, OK? Take you somewhere safe."_

_The girl nodded and moved towards the officer's outstretched arms. He lifted her out of the tub with ease; she weighed practically nothing, her body wrapped in a dirty princess sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and he responded by wrapping an arm around her back. She rested her head against his shoulder._

_"Now, promise me that you'll keep your eyes closed until we're in the car."_

_She nodded her reply, her hair tickling the side of his neck. She closed her eyes as he carried her out of the bathroom, but a bright light flashed in front of her closed lids. She peered into the hotel room as Jim walked towards the door, and she saw her mama lying on the floor by the bathroom. Her head lay in a pool of blood, her face bruised and swollen. People were putting yellow tags on her and around the room; someone was taking pictures. It was the last image she saw of her mama before Jim carried her outside and into the warm, morning light._

* * *

><p>The Amusement Mile hotel was no different than that hotel had been. It was filthy, grimy, and wreaked of mildew. Edith felt the blood drain from her face at the memories, and she looked around the Joker's chosen suite. She was surprised to see that it was fairly put together and had been used recently. The sheets of the queen bed, while not <em>clean<em>, looked barely used with mismatched blankets. The lighting was dim, but she could see various articles of clothing strewn about, along empty greasepaint tins. Take-out boxes and food wrappers littered the floor. The Joker kicked some boxes out of his way as he shrugged off his trench coat, tossing it across a dusty armchair. His gloves followed.

"You, uh, been staying here recently, I take it?" Edith asked, closing the hotel door softly.

The clown turned to her and stretched his arms out, his elbow joints popping loudly. "Home, sweet, home."

"I know I lost Dent. It won't happen aga -"

"_Shush_," he said harshly. He looked at her briefly, chewing on his scars. "We'll get _Harrr_vey, don't you fre_t_."

"So why am I here?"

At this, he smiled, his scars bunching up like an accordion. "It's not that you lost Dent, it's _why_ you lost Dent." His grin started to disappear with agonizing slowness. "Tell me, cupcake, _are you_?"

Edith watched as he stalked towards her, and she immediately put her back against the door, her hand gripping the knob. He got close enough that she could smell him, and he let his eyes travel down the length of her form, lingering on every curve.

"_Also_, did I tell you how much I _love_ that _dress_?"

"Stop it," she spat, unfazed by his attempts to intimidate her. "Am I _what_?"

He snapped his dark eyes back to hers, his mouth curling to one side. He took a step closer. "Are you still on for _dinner_ tomorrow?"

Edith's mouth fell open slightly, and she let an amused laugh slip past her red-painted lips.

"Is_ that_ what this is about?" she mused, her lips curling over her teeth as she chuckled. "My date? You're still concerned about him being a distraction." She spoke her next words with a little venom, pushing his buttons a little more. She leaned in to him slightly. "_Or_ is it that the _boss man_ is getting jealous?"

He responded by pushing her against the door with his body, forcibly, but not painfully. Her duffel bag fell from her shoulder, and she immediately put her hands up in defense. Her palms rested against his covered chest, and the amount of heat radiating through his clothing was remarkable. His arms snaked their way around her body, pressing her into him and forcing her nose to rub against his throat. With what sounded like a mixture between a growl and a purr, he leaned his head to the side and put his mouth against her ear.

"What if I was?" he hissed. His breath was hot, his voice seductively low.

She didn't realize that she was holding her breath until she felt his hands pull the zipper of her dress down slowly. With her hands trapped between her body and his, she struggled to push him away; his hold on her was tight.

"What are you doing?" she breathed angrily, ignoring the pool of heat that had settled between her legs.

"What do you _want_ me to be doing, cupcake?"

The zipper was all the way down, and his hand was on her low back, trailing up her spine and fingering the thin cord of the wire that was taped to her body. She could feel the tape being pulled from her skin. He moved his head to look at her, his forehead pressed against hers. She felt one hand grip the shoulder of her dress, and she caught her voice before it went into hiding.

"I want you to stop."

She was lying. She knew it, but he didn't have to. He gave her a lopsided smirk, dipping his body slightly so that their eyes were level. The sleeve of her dress was caught in the crook of her arm, and he looked at her, his expression full of arrogant amusement.

"_Now_, I think we both know that's a _lie_," he said, enunciating every word perfectly. She felt his hold on her loosen slightly. "If you really want me to stop, then make me. _Push me away_."

And she did. With all her strength, she shoved him away, and he nearly tripped over the corner of the bed. She glared at him, watching as he caught himself. He laughed loudly, the high-pitched sound grating her ears.

"Oh, _bravo_, cupcake. Always _full_ of surprises. Did I tell you how much I _love_ surprises."

Edith's glare intensified, and she roughly pulled the sleeve back over her shoulder. The Joker stepped towards her.

"_No_," he said sternly. "I want my, ah, _wire_."

She never broke his gaze. With a smirk, her hands disappeared behind her back, her flexibility allowing her to zip her dress back up. When she was done, her hands were back at her sides. They were even at that point, and while he loved this game, she was done playing.

"If you want it," she replied. "Come on over and take it."

With the speed she already knew he had, he rushed towards her and grabbed her by the arm, throwing her behind him and onto the bed. She fell back, her spine arching against the edge of the mattress. He was soon on top of her, his hand gripping her throat. He pushed her fully onto the bed, his strength squeezing her windpipe closed. He settled in between her legs, the bottom of the dress bunching awkwardly around her thighs. She struggled for breath, her body numb from the lack of oxygen, soaked in adrenaline. He let go of her throat briefly to capture both of her wrists and pin them above her head. His other hand was in the pocket of his purple slacks, pulling out a switchblade. Her chest was heaving as she caught her breath, her pupils dilating at the sight of the blade. If this were any other time, she would be screaming and fighting, but his eyes were filled with lust and anger. She wanted nothing more than to see what he would do.

The tip of the switchblade rested against her sternum and at the edge of her dress. In one quick movement, the clown swiped it down the fabric, catching her skin in the process. She hissed at the stinging pain, glaring at him as he threw the switchblade into the pillows next to them. He removed his hand from her wrists and gripped the fabric of her dress, tearing it clean in half; her bra and the wire beneath it were exposed. His hands picked at the tape, but with her wrists now free, she grabbed him by his acid green hair and pulled him up so that their noses were touching.

"If you're gonna do this," she whispered, her impish smirk matching his own, "then do it _right_. Rip it all the way."

He chuckled, his mouth descending on hers like a predator. He kissed her roughly, growling appreciatively into her mouth as she pulled on his hair again. He forced his tongue into her mouth, and she met him with equal fervor before he ripped himself away. Greasepaint smeared, he stood at the edge of the bed and took the rest of her dress in his hands, tearing it down to the hem. She freed her one shoulder from the sleeve before he slid on top of her, his tongue licking the blood from her sternum until their lips met. With her legs free, she wrapped them around his lean waist, reveling in the bittersweet taste of his mouth. His rough, scarred hands were kneading the flesh of her thighs, his body rocking her forward at the hips. She gasped when he bit her lower lip, drawing blood.

"Still want me to_ stop_?" he growled.

Edith ran the tip of her tongue along the grooves of his scars, earning her a genuine, masculine moan. With her legs wrapped around his waist, she flipped them around so that he was on his back. She straddled him, pinning his hands above his head. He laughed and licked his scars, clearly enjoying the situation.

"I'll take that as a _nooo_."

"I'm not going to stop," Edith replied, her tone both playful and serious. The Joker only laughed, the sound vibrating her body and making her need painfully obvious. She felt his throbbing excitement between her legs, and despite their current position, he still had the control. It angered her, and she grabbed the switchblade that sat beside them. She pressed the sharp edge against the soft flesh of his throat, her other hand keeping his wrists together. She was growing to hate his laugh.

"You're _very_ pretty, Eddie baby," he said smoothly. "I'm sure you have men just _lining up_ to be with you. And yet, here you are, _practically_ naked, with _me_."

"All part of the game, right _boss_?" Edith retorted. The edge of the blade dug into his skin.

He rolled his eyes, as if oblivious to the danger of the blade. "We're_ far_ past a game, cupcake. _No_, you know, I feel like I _know_ you. Less than a week and I know what makes you_ ti**c**_."

He tore his wrists from her hands, spinning her so that she lay underneath him again. She dropped the blade in the process, but not before slicing him further. The cut was deep, but not lethal; it barely bled. He moved to stand at the edge of the mattress and in one, swift movement, pulled her towards him. Her legs were draped over the bed, the inside of her thighs pressing against his quads as he loomed over her. His erection was glaringly obvious, confined by his pants. She settled herself on her forearms, her messy hair cascading onto the sheets. The remnants of her dress now rested on the floor.

"You think you know me, huh?"

The Joker nodded, his fingers undoing the buttons of his vest. "_Mmhmm_."

"You think I know you?"

The vest was discarded, his hands now working the buttons of his blue-patterned shirt.

"Better than most," he admitted. She watched as the skin of his chest was revealed inch by inch, her excitement overflowing. "You see," he continued, undoing the sleeve cuffs and sliding the silk off his skin, "you and me, we're very, _similar_. Not the _same_, but similar."

"How so?" Her voice was soft and breathy, her eyes cascading down the length of his torso. He was lean and muscled, his skin covered in scars, cuts, and bruises, old and fresh. He ran a hand through his green hair before fiddling with his belt.

"Mmm, _personality_, let's say. We both, ah, _know_ what we want and we do what we have to to _g__et it_."

Edith's laugh became a gasp when she felt his hand between her legs, and he leaned into her, their lips grazing together.

"I already _know_ what you want, and I want to hear you say it."

His dominance and arrogance tickled her temper. She glared at him, finding his tactics no longer amusing. "No. _Fuck you_."

"Ha, oh, we'll get to that, but first.."

He pulled her up roughly by her arms so that she was on two feet and spun her around. She growled when he slammed her back against his chest, the heat of him practically burning her alive. He had one hand wrapped around her waist, the other pulling her hair so that her head rested against his shoulder. She wiggled against his grip, her muscles tightening when she felt his hand travel down her stomach and beneath her black underwear.

"I want to hear you _saaay_ it," he sang, his voice nasally and raising in pitch. Edith kept her full lips pressed into a line, her teeth grinding together when his hand began to explore the most intimate part of her. He bit her ear roughly, forcing a moan from her throat. Furious with herself, she sunk an elbow into his stomach, but his grip only tightened.

"Ah, _there she is._ There's my Eddie. Such a fighter," he chuckled breathlessly. His fingers danced against her, rubbing her in all the right places. He toyed with her until she nearly hyperventilating and no longer fighting. She pressed herself against his hardness, grinding slowly, her pants laced with lust.

"I want it."

"Hmm?" he asked lazily. "What's that? Want _what_? _This_?"

He pulled her hair roughly, his fingers quickening their assault on her soaked core. She was losing control, and she doubted she ever really had it in the first place. She felt frantic with need. She had to have him, and the words slipped out of her mouth in an exasperated moan.

"_Just shut up and fuck me_."

Satisfied with her submission, he pushed her face first into the mattress, her body bent over the edge. Tired of their game himself, he yanked her underwear down from her hips before removing his belt and letting his pants and boxers fall to the floor. Edith moved to look over her shoulder, but his hand was soon pressed against her neck, keeping her cheek against the sheets. She gasped when she felt his erection against her, and her mind nearly exploded when he thrust into her without hesitation.

He was not gentle. He was not loving, and he certainly was not merciful as he took her. The pain was intense, but it soon gave way to a pleasure she had long forgotten. She arched her back and moved her hips in tune with violent thrusts. He pulled her hair painfully, forcing her onto her hands. She snarled in response, and his groans were drowned out by the volume her pleasure carried.

He was pure evil, the way he would slow when she begged for speed and the way he would become gentle when she craved his roughness. After a few, agonizingly slow movements to piss her off, he suddenly quickened his pace. Edith gripped the sheets with white knuckles, ordering him not to stop, threatening him if he did. Her muscles contracted violently, and she screamed as she came, pleasure racking her core. Every fiber of her being both hated and loved that moment, and the sounds he made with his release made her come a second time. By the end, he had her hips in a bruising grip, and she lay limp like a bowl of jello in front of him. Eyes close, breathing heavy, she began to laugh.

She felt one of his hands rub up her spine, her skin slick with sweat.

"I like your laugh."

Edith opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder. "I don't like yours."

The Joker slapped her naked backside roughly, forcing a yelp from her throat. He pulled away from her and brought his purple slacks back up, tightening the belt.

"Liar, liar." He watched as she spun around and pulled her underwear back over her hips. She sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling the strength return to her numb extremities. She noticed that the wire was still taped to her body, now tangled in various places. Carefully, she removed it and put it on the bed.

"_Well_," she said, clasping her hands together. "That was _fun_. There's your wire."

She rose, meeting his gaze as he stood in the middle of the room in all of his shirtless glory. His face paint was cracked and smeared with sweat. Seeing him in such a way was oddly enjoyable, like she had solved some impossible code. He chewed the inside of his scars, a habit she liked watching, and she moved to grab fresh clothes out of her duffel bag. Her phone was inside, having been on silent, and she noticed seven missed calls from Bruce. She dressed quickly, and just as she flipped the volume of her phone on, it rang an eighth time.

"_Ohh_, rich boy checkin' in, I see," the Joker said, his eyes peering over her shoulder. "_Answer it._"

Edith glared and pushed past him. Standing by the bathroom door, she accepted the call and watched as the clown flopped onto the bed, TV remote in hand.

"Hello?"

"Edith? Jesus, where are you?" Bruce asked quickly. She could hear people shouting in the background. "I've tried calling you. Are you hurt? People said those thugs took you with them."

"They did, but I'm fine. Just trying to scare me. They let me go once we got into the lobby."

"Why didn't you stay with the police?"

"Bruce, I was so scared and had so much adrenaline, I literally just ran to my friends house. That's where I am right now."

The Joker snickered at her comment and gave her a thumbs up, mouthing the word "friends"; Edith flipped him off.

"Are you staying there for the night?" Bruce asked.

"No, I'll be heading to my hotel soon."

"OK, I'm coming to see you."

Before she could tell him no, the call was ended. She tried calling him back, but it went straight to voicemail. Grumbling to herself, Edith stalked towards the door and threw her duffel bag over her shoulder. Throwing open the door, she yelled for Spade to give her a ride to midtown. As she made her exit, she heard the Joker's proud, arrogant goodbye.

"Till next time, cupcake!"


	11. A Guy's Intuition

How are you guys liking the story so far? Review and let me know what you like, don't like; constructive feedback always welcome. Doing my best to keep everyone in character. Thank you to those who have read, followed, fave'd and reviewed so far. Your feedback is the motivation I need to keep writing!

**Rated M for a reason.**

* * *

><p><em>Till next time, cupcake!<em>

His words stalled her, and she glared at him from over her shoulder. He remained propped up in the bed, his back resting against the headboard and his arms folded across his naked chest. Meeting her gaze, he raised his brow and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. The act wasn't meant to be seductive, but that didn't stop her stomach from tightening at the sight.

"There isn't going to be a next time," she said sternly, closing the door before he could retort.

She shivered against the wind, realizing then that she had only changed into jeans and a short-sleeved gray t-shirt. Walking along the cement path that ran along the edge of the hotel, she caught sight of her reflection in one of the windows. Her hair resembled a tumble weed, wild and tangled, and despite the shadows, she could see smudges of greasepaint across her face and neck. Grabbing a tie from her duffel bag, Edith moved to quickly pull the unruly mess into a ponytail and winced with the effort, her scalp tender from all the abuse it had endured. The greasepaint was sticky and difficult to remove, but she rubbed her skin raw until she could no longer see it in her reflection.

Laughter wafted from across the building where the group of lackeys had congregated in one room. Their voices grew louder when the door opened, and Spade stumbled out, beer bottle in hand. Catching sight of her, he clumsily made his way over, and she met him halfway beneath the hotel marquee.

"Ya raaang?" he drawled. His coal-colored hair was tussled and his eyes were glossed over.

"I'm surprised you could hear me," Edith replied honestly, her nose wrinkling at the heavy scent of booze. A goofy, half-smile crossed over Spade's features, and he swayed from side to side slightly. "You're clearly drunk, which is amazing, considering we've been here for what, two hours? Is everyone else as drunk as you?"

"_Mmhm_. Lotso'shots."

Spade surprised her by draping one of his muscular arms over her shoulder, the sudden weight nearly breaking her balance. She let him guide her down the cement path until they were outside the occupied hotel room. When they reached the door, he slowly turned her so that she was facing him.

"Kerr owes me twenty bucks," the lackey slurred. He raised his index finger in front of her face, as if it emphasized his point. "Ya wanna know why? Y'know what he said? He said that the boss was gonna kill you for losing that D.A., and y'know what I said? I said.. I said _nooo_ way, _Kerr_. _No_ way, _no_ how."

Edith chuckled, finding his drunken demeanor rather amusing. "Yeah? And why did you think that?"

"Because, he's got the hots for you."

Her smile vanished completely. "Excuse me?"

"The boss. He has the hots -"

"I heard what you said, you moron. _Why_ would you say that?"

Spade drained his beer before replying. "Guys intudiction"

"You mean _intuition_?"

"Yeah, that."

She let out an exasperated laugh, rubbing her eyes with one hand. Her heart had stopped, fearing that the group had heard what had transpired behind the Joker's hotel door. It was clear, however, that they had been too busy getting drunk and being rowdy to have eavesdropped. Suddenly exhausted, all she wanted to do was go to sleep. If the guys were in the same drunken stupor that Spade was, she wasn't going to get a ride anywhere, and she certainly wasn't going to ask the clown.

"You got one of the keys to a room?" she asked.

Spade nodded, pulling a copper-colored key from the pocket of his black cargo pants. "Don't know which one it's to; gonna go get my twenty bucks. Later, Eds."

* * *

><p>After trying the key on almost every door to the hotel, Edith found the match. The room was on the second floor, directly above the Joker's, but she didn't mind. She preferred to be above him then next to him and away from the group. The layout was similar to the one below her. A queen-sized bed with dingy sheets sat in the middle with a dresser directly across, old TV atop. There was a small kitchenette near the bathroom, which consisted of nothing more than a counter, broken mini-fridge, and a coffeemaker without the actual coffee pot. After setting her duffel bag on top of the small, round table in the corner, Edith headed into the bathroom. She was surprised and grateful to find that there was running water, even if it took five minutes for it to run clear. The mirror above the sink was broken, fragmented as if someone had punched it. She saw multiple reflections within the shattered glass, and she hated each one.<p>

_No. Scratch that._

She hated _him_.

She hated the way his eyes stole her voice. She hated how his touch made her breath quicken.

She hated him for offering her the job, but she hated herself for having accepted it, for enjoying it, and most of all, for enjoying him.

He was _nothing_. He was a client. He was a challenge. This was her job, and she would not let her professional boundaries become blurred again. She had wanted to get the upper hand so badly, to show him that she could be in control, but it had been what he wanted all along. The realization that he had played her made her furious, and she desperately wished the mirror wasn't already broken; she wanted so badly to slam her fist against the glass. His words drifted through her mind then, about how they were similar in personality and how they both did what they had to do to get what they wanted. In that moment, she had wanted _him_, but _he_ was not her goal. Her goal was to get out of Gotham for good, emotionally and physically. She hated that she had to remind herself of this, but felt relieved to have her priorities realigned.

The water from the sink never grew warm, but Edith washed her face regardless. Bruises were beginning to form around her neck, faint and pink, but she was sure they would be purple by morning. Bundling herself in a sweatshirt, she pulled the hood up and rested atop the musty covers of the bed. She closed her eyes and drifted off, her brain flickering with memories of her bathroom haven from years ago and the cop who had rescued her. She often wondered how different her life would have been had she not ran that night, if she had stayed in the police car and waited for her rescuer to return. If only she had -

Her thoughts were shattered by the harsh sounds of her cell phone ringing. She fumbled desperately with the device as she pulled it from her pocket, catching the time at 4:18 AM before the name of the caller flashed. It was Bruce.

Groaning, Edith answered, her voice thick with sleep. She had slept for about three hours.

"Hello?"

"Edith, I'm at your hotel. Where are you?"

"I decided to stay at my friend's after all. I'm fine."

"Where is that exactly? I want to make sure you're OK."

She wasn't sure if it was her lack of sleep or his persistence, but she found herself growing incredibly annoyed.

"I said I'm fine." Her voice was much harsher than she had anticipated.

"Edith, I -"

"Look, Bruce, it's not your _job_ to check in on me. It's not your _job_ to make sure I'm OK, so just _stop_."

"Edith -"

"I'm done, Bruce."

Hanging up the phone, she turned it off and sunk her head back down onto the mattress. She closed her eyes, hungry for sleep, but it never returned. She lay motionless on the bed for nearly half an hour before her limbs tingled with apprehension and restlessness. Rising from the bed, Edith pulled her black boots on and left her hotel room.

When she was younger and on the streets, she suffered from insomnia, constantly in a "fight or flight" mode. She would walk for hours down the streets until she would collapse in some alley or behind a dumpster. The quiet walks calmed her, and right then, it was exactly what she needed to rid her body of the energy that plagued her.

* * *

><p>Bruce placed the phone down, his shoulders hunching as he rested his palms on the table. Brow furrowed, lost in thought, he barely heard the men who surrounded him. He couldn't get Edith's terrified face out of his head; her expression as that man pulled her from the crowd haunted him. She was a good actress.<p>

He straightened his spine, his eyes looking over at the laptop that sat on the table beside the phone, its screen frozen on a grainy black-and-white security image. He had been plagued with guilt when he heard that they had taken Edith with them, but that was before Lucius showed him the security footage from the lobby; before the police arrived with their questions about her identity and their footage from the Von Grunwald Tower. Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at Jim Gordon.

"No luck," the lieutenant said, his brown eyes full of disappointment. "The call was too short to put any trace on it. Looks like her phone is off as well now. Is there anything you can tell us about her?"

Bruce chewed his bottom lip, his fingers toying with the keys on the laptop. The security footage from that evening began to play, and he watched for the tenth time as Edith stumbled into the elevator with the thugs, watched as the Joker man-handled her, and watched as she left _with_ them.

She hadn't run away, she hadn't screamed for help. The woman he saw in the footage moved as if she were one of them, and after he saw the Von Grunwald footage, Bruce realized that it was because she _was_ one of them.

"I doubt anything she told me is the truth," he replied after a moment. "You said there's no record of an Edith Green her age ever living in Gotham."

Gordon nodded. "Yes, but we have CSU in her hotel as we speak. She has a name, she has a past. We'll find out who she is, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce found little comfort in his words and knew it would be up to him to find out who she was.

After Gordon and his men packed up their equipment, Bruce and Alfred left the penthouse for Wayne Manor, allowing the CSU teams to complete their investigation. The guests had all fled hours before, most screaming and running after the thugs had left. After learning what had happened when he was unconscious, Harvey insisted that Rachel be seen at the hospital, and while Bruce had hoped to go with them, he was interrupted when Gordon arrived with his cavalry. Needless to say, the night had not gone as planned.

"I have to say, it's a shame, sir," Alfred said quietly as they drove north.

Bruce looked to him curiously. "What's that?"

"I thought she was quite lovely, that Ms. Green, but the pretty redheads always seem to be a little crazy."

* * *

><p>Her thin shirt and sweatshirt did little to protect her from the freezing dawn.<p>

Edith picked up her pace as she walked down the desolate paths of Amusement Mile. It had been years, but the nostalgia was thick; her feet moved as if she had never left. She passed by the entrance of an old, wooden roller coaster, remembering the time she and another teen had tried to climb the framework in competition. The rotten wood had crumbled beneath them before they could get very high, but Edith still had the scar on her shoulder to prove she had climbed the highest. Beneath a piece of the broken frame, she could see a makeshift shelter that consisted of a holey, blue tarp and soggy boxes; the typical Amusement Mile abode.

She continued on for almost an hour and the sky was still dark. Without realizing, Edith's memories had lead her to what had been her favorite spot of the park: the hedge maze. Years of abandonment and lack of maintenance had allowed the foliage to grow wild; it resembled more of a forest than a maze. Many parts had withered into crisp, yellow weeds that would scratch any exposed flesh, and most of the homeless folk avoided the maze because of this. Edith, however, loved the challenge, and she loved the solitude. When all of her other go-to places for sleep were occupied, she would make the trek and find her comfort within the maze.

Carefully, she moved the coarse branches aside and stepped onto the dirt path, her boots crunching against the dry leaves. Muscle memory guided her through the curves of the maze, and she found the stillness peaceful. She stopped briefly to push aside another group of branches when she heard rustling behind her. She spun around quickly, her eyes darting from side to side as she surveyed the shadows. While the silence that followed calmed her nerves, the hand that quickly snaked its way around her waist did not. Edith instinctively moved into the threat, her fist connecting with the offender's jaw. In the darkness, she couldn't see his face, and she didn't take the time to look. The man's head whipped to the side, knocking him off balance and sending him into the hedge. Edith moved as fast as she could, ignoring the stinging pain as branches scratched at her face. She had almost reached the exit when the man surprised her from the path to her left. He nearly tackled her, catching her by the waist before she hit the ground. He hoisted her up so that she was pressed against his chest, and she recognized the odd, mixed scent of gasoline and gunpowder before she noticed his Glasgow smile. In what was becoming a very twisted reality, she felt her fear dissipate.

"That hurt, _Edith_."

Her name rolled off his serpent tongue like silk, and his voice called the small hairs on the back of her neck to attention. He was dressed in his full get-up, complete with trench coat and gloves, and his hands sat pressed into her low back. With her eyes now adjusted and her breathing slowed, she looked up into the shadowed, black pits where his eyes were supposed to be. He hadn't reapplied his greasepaint; his skin was a muddle of various shades of white and gray. She slowly pushed herself away from him, her palms pressing into the hardness of his chest. He responded by pressing his hands further against her back, bringing their lower halves together.

"Aren't you going to, ah, _apologize_?"

"For what? Defending myself? _Hell no_."

She forced her attention on his face, ignoring their close proximity. "Why are you following me?"

"_Me_? Follow _you_?" the Joker replied, his tone rising to convey his lack of guilt. "No no no no, _no_. No, I think it's the other way 'round."

She pushed with a little more force this time, and he let his hands drop from her back. The space between them was heavenly. Cold air swept past her body, and she felt like she could breathe again.

"Get over yourself," she spat. "I wouldn't have come here if I had known I'd run into you. What are you even doing out here? Don't you ever sleep?"

"Not when there's pretty _giiiirls_ running around. Y'know, you should be more careful. Lots of _freaks_ out here."

"Apparently."

In the dark, his laugh was a little more unnerving. "Sooo, how's your rich side-piece, hm?"

Edith clenched her teeth, catching her retort before it slipped past her lips. The man was a parasite, constantly trying to burrow beneath her skin, and she wasn't going to let him do it. Without a word, she turned on her heel and began walking towards the maze exit. She took only two steps before she felt the leather of his gloves wrap around her wrist, and she soon found herself trapped between him and the hedge. He had one hand wrapped around each of her wrists, keeping them pinned to her sides, his body leaning into her and forcing her back against the sharp branches. He gnawed the inside of his scars furiously.

"I asked you a question."

"I don't feel like giving you an answer."

"You, ah, don't have a choice, cupcake."

Their breaths were mingling in white plumes, but the air between them felt hot. Edith raised her chin in defiance, her anger getting the best of her.

"What are you going to do if I don't answer, huh? _Fuck me_ again to prove one of your _little_ points? Show me that you can get under my skin? You're a fucking broken recor -"

He stole her words, trapping them in his mouth as he crushed their lips together. The kiss was short, hard, and meant to silence. When he pulled back, she expected him to laugh at her, but found his lips curled into a sneer.

"Let me tell you something," he said, his tone dangerously calm. When he was sure she wouldn't move, he let go of her wrists. "The difference between _you_ and _me_ is that I'm not scared of _this_." He motioned to the both of them, his hand waving erratically before he placed it on her hip. His fingers trailed up her side and under her shirt. "I'm not _scared_ of anything, really."

He had her paralyzed, his touch burning her ribs the higher he went. With each word, their lips grew closer.

"But yes, I _fucked_ you to prove a point, you're right about tha_t_. _But_ I_ fucked_ you because I _wanted_ to. And, if I recall, you _fucked_ _me_ right bac**_k_**. You're _so_ serious, all the time, nothing but business, and I find it,_ boring_." He stepped back from her. "You see? I'm not afraid to have a little fun, and you best believe that a woman of mine is gonna _learn_ to have a little fun too."

"I'm not your woman," Edith whispered. She remained defiant, despite the chord his words had struck within her.

He chuckled, closing the gap between them once more. He cupped her cheeks gently in his hands, bending slightly so they were at eye level.

"Ha, _oh_, Eddie. _EddieEddieEddie_. Hate to break it to you, but you've _been_ mine." His lips spread into a smile. "You won try outs, remember?"


	12. Misfit Circus

Keep R&R - it really makes my day! I'm putting my own HQ twist on my OC.

And here.. we.. _go_!

* * *

><p>He followed her out of the maze, annoyed by the way her body slipped smoothly past the protruding branches. He was less graceful, his hunched over form pushing the brush aside forcibly. His smirk deepened with satisfaction at the memory of her expression. He had claimed her just to see what she would do, revel in how she would react when he called her his. There was disgust, annoyance, aversion - an array of emotions he always loved to see, but with <em>Eddie<em>. _EddieEddieEddie_. _She_ was different; twisted, damaged, and her eyes had flashed with so much _need_.

He kept a couple paces behind her as they walked the concrete path to the hotel, his eyes glued to her slender back. He fingered the tip of his switchblade in his pocket and ran his tongue along his bottom lip, thinking of all the things he could do to her; all the things she _wanted_ him to do to her, but was too stubborn to admit. A little more recon and he discovered just how long she had worked for the mob. Growing up with those money-hungry boars must have been such a _drag_. No wonder she was so stiff. Yet, despite her disobedience and her inability to simply,_ let go_, he found her tolerable and worth keeping around. She was becoming another fun side project, one he couldn't wait to finish.

They reached the hotel, and Edith suddenly stopped outside of his room. The Joker paused a few feet away, his brow raising curiously as she turned to him. His hands were in his pockets, forcing his shoulders forward. Her jaw was rigid, her mind gnawing on her thoughts.

"Why didn't you tell me the mob hired you?"

The Joker's lips pouted slightly, as if confused by her words. "Last I, uh, _checked_, you were working for _me_. I don't -"

"How much do I get now?"

The corner of his mouth turned down, disliking the interruption. _Quite rude._ She stared at him with those delicious blue eyes of hers, and when he didn't respond, she sighed, her head dipping to look at her feet. The sky was beginning to brighten as the sun rose from under the horizon. The air around them was unnaturally still.

"Look, I need to get out of Gotham," she said, bringing her eyes up to him. "And I know you don't care, but if we're going to continue this game or charade or _whatever_ this is, you need to understand. The _only_ thing I want is to get out of here once and for all, and that money is my one way ticket. Anything that happens in between means _nothing_ to me."

The Joker's eyes glinted with amusement. "_Now_, why would you **_ever_** want to leave Gotham? Bad, hm, _memories_?"

Edith glared at him. "Somehow, I think you already know the answer to that."

"_S__ee_? I know you, you know me. I bet we'll be finishing each others' sentences pretty soon here, don't you, _sweetheart_?"

He noticed her jaw tighten again, those stubborn little teeth clenching with resistance. A laugh cracked through his voice. "Wha_t_ did I tell you about having a little fun, hm? Do you need my _help_ again?"

He moved towards, happy to see her stand her ground, but irritated that she was now staring at her feet. One finger rested under her chin, and he gently lifted her head so that she looked at him. His eyes fell down on her with patronizing delight. "What happened to that ball_sy_ redhead from just a few hours ago? What happened to the woman who said that she would, _what was it_, again? Ah, yes. _Slit my scars open _if I stopped _fucking_ -"

Her open hand slammed hard against the side of his face, splattering his laughter across the asphalt. He barely had time to enjoy the stinging pain before she grabbed the lapels of his trench coat. She shoved him into the hotel door with so much force, his breath left him in what was between a chuckle and a squawk. _This girl._ She was fuming. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were burning, and her lips pressed against his in lustful anger. Their mouths moved in unison, tongues battling for the dominance neither would surrender.

She was tired of hearing him talk, and she was disgusted with the way her body would inwardly respond to his words. Whether or not he wanted this reaction from her, she didn't care. It felt good to rebel against herself, to be something more than just Maroni's weapon. She would be more than just his little redheaded puppet. She wished he could see her now, the look on his face would be priceless. One of the Joker's hands grab her pony tail, freeing her hair from its confinement as the tie slipped off. He pushed her forward by the back of the head, forcing her to accept more of his tongue. She was about to pull away for air, but she felt the support of his body give way as he opened the hotel door with his free hand. They fell back into the room together, and Edith landed roughly on top of him. He soon had her on her back; his palms rested on either side of her head and the tails of his trench coat were draped over her like a tent. She unbuttoned his vest with elegant, expert fingers, and his brown eyes glinted deviously.

"_Look at you go_."

Edith ran her hands up the silk of his patterned shirt, feeling the muscle beneath. She pushed his vest and trench coat from his shoulders. The Joker sat up, powerful thighs keeping her in place as he shrugged the loose clothing from his lean frame. Without the bulk of his trench coat, he appeared much smaller, but no less threatening. He looked down at her like a predator, his body silhouetted by the dawn outside. With the door open, Edith felt the cold morning air hit her exposed flesh. The TV behind her was on, but the voices sounded far away, saturated by the deep pulsing in her ears. She watched with heated eyes as the Joker removed his gloves, revealing skin stained with white greasepaint.

"I'm starting to think you have a _crush_ on me," he teased.

Edith's opened her mouth to speak, but something caught her attention. She snapped her lips closed.

She could have sworn she heard someone say her name.

"You look _nervou_ -"

"Shut up," Edith whispered harshly, focusing her attention to the sounds of the TV. She craned her neck back to try and see the screen, but they were too far off to the side. She wiggled beneath the Joker trying to push him off of her. For being so lean, it felt like he weighed a ton, and it didn't help that he had her trapped at the hips. "Will you get off!" she grunted, shoving him in the chest. "I swear I just heard my name on the news."

At this, the clown rolled his eyes. "_Of course you did_. You're a bit of a celebrity now, cupcake."

He finally shifted his weight, allowing her to move out from underneath him. Edith rushed over to the TV and sat on the edge of the bed. The screen was flickering and the images were hard to make out. The newscaster's voice mixed with static, but she could hear his words clearly.

_"Continuing with the breaking news from this evening," _stated a male reporter,_ "we have confirmation that both Commissioner Loeb and Judge Surrillo have been killed. While the investigation is ongoing, the Joker is considered the prime main suspect, and his appearance at the Wayne Tower this evening has left the city in fear of who is next. We have been told that Harvey Dent is under police protection after being labeled a target."_

Edith heard the hotel door close and felt the mattress shift as the Joker sat behind her, his back against the headboard. The newscaster handed the story off to another reporter, who was situated outside the Wayne Tower.

_"Larry, I'm here outside the Wayne Tower where Gotham's CSU has been investigating and gathering evidence in hopes of tracking the Joker. We have confirmation that no one was killed here, though many are still shaken up, but they are grateful for Batman's presence."_

_"Now, Greg, you were able to speak with Lieutenant Gordon earlier this evening,"_ the newscaster replied. _"He will be making a statement this morning, but what can you tell us about that conversation?"_

_"Lieutenant Gordon made it very clear, Larry, that bringing the Joker and his accomplices to justice is GCPD's top priority. Although the identity of his male accomplices has yet to be determined, Gordon did state that one woman seen in his company has been labeled a suspect as well. She is described 5'6", approximately one hundred and thirty pounds, with red hair and blue eyes, going by the alias, 'Edith Green'. She should be considered armed and dangerous, Larry. Anyone with information about her identity or whereabouts is encouraged to call the number on the screen."_

Edith ran a hand through her hair in frustration. She knew she would be on the security cameras from Von Grunwald Tower; the police had most likely scoured the building after the Joker's grand display of chaos. They would have found the footage and the two guards she incapacitated; she really should have just killed them.

"Shoulda known Edith wasn't your real name."

Edith looked back over her shoulder at the clown. His eyes were closed, arms folded loosely across his chest, and feet crossed at the ankles. His voice was quiet, as if on the verge of sleep.

"What makes you think it's not my real name?" she replied, turning her attention back to the TV.

"If it was your _real_ name you wouldn't _use_ _it_. Take me, for example."

"Aw, shoot, you mean _Joe Kerr_ isn't your legal name? I was so sure of it. But really, ever think I'm just good at what I do and that I don't _need_ a fake name?"

The Joker let out a soft, appreciative chuckle. "You're too much; crack me up."

He fell silent then, and Edith stayed at the edge of the bed for a few moments longer. The rest of the news program provided nothing informative or useful, but she would definitely want to hear the lieutenant's statement. It was obvious she could no longer go back to her midtown hotel; she wouldn't risk running into the GCPD. No, it seemed as if she was stuck with the misfit circus, and her half of the mob's money was even more important now. She was going to need to buy herself a new identity. Her thoughts suddenly went to Bruce, and she pulled her cellphone from her pocket, studying it with a furrowed brow. She wondered if he knew. If he didn't before, he surely would now. It was too bad, really. She had had fun playing her part with him.

Looking over her shoulder once more, Edith caught sight of something very rare: a sleeping Joker. His chin was tucked into his chest, his hair hanging loosely over his brow and was partially covering his face. His head was swaying slightly; soft, inaudible words left his scarred mouth in exhaled whispers. She could kill him. Take a blade and with a quick flick of her wrist, he would be dead. But there he was, sound asleep, as if he wasn't the most wanted man in the city, like he hadn't just orchestrated the death of two very important people.

They were so different. She would always be on edge after she completed a hit; she was precise, clean, organized. Leave no mess, receive no mess, but the Joker was the exact opposite. For him, the messier, the better. It was impressive, quite frankly. Admirable, even.

She was actually a little jealous.

* * *

><p>After retreating to her own hotel room, she was able to get some restful sleep before being woken up by a knock on her door. Charlie was on the other side, pink bakery box in one hand and a rather large, brown box in the other. A glazed doughnut was crammed into his mouth.<p>

He pushed both boxes towards her, and Edith took them cautiously.

"They ain't _bombs_," he exclaimed, his voice muffled by the doughnut.

He bit into it and removed it from his mouth when his hands were free. Edith moved away from the door, leaving it open for Charlie to enter. She placed both boxes on the small round table in the corner. There were two doughnuts left, both of which had bites taken out of them.

"You guys are _so_ sweet," she said, her eyes rolling. Pushing the half eaten pastries aside, she picked up the brown box, observing the packing tape and lack of labels. "What's in this one?"

Charlie chewed his doughnut and shrugged. "I dunno. One of the dirty cops stopped by with some info for the boss. Brought us doughnuts and whatever that is," he motioned to the box. "Boss said to bring it to you. I'm alive 'cause I don't ask questions, y'know."

"You got a knife or something?"

Charlie tossed her a pocket knife, watching as she ran the blade across the top of the box. She peered inside, her eyes widening slightly, and then a small smile graced one corner of her mouth. The lackey stepped forward, trying to peer over her shoulder, but she closed the flaps of the box quickly.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. What's in it?"

Edith slid the box across the table and away from them. "I thought you said you didn't ask questions."

"Whatever," he grumbled, turning and heading towards the door. When he had gone, Edith took one of the half-eaten doughnuts and bit into it. Reaching over, she pulled the brown package so that it sat in front of her again and reopened the flaps. His _gift_ was unnerving, to say the least. She lifted the fabric from the box, noting it was smooth, most likely a combination of spandex and leather. With two hands, she held out the pair of pants, noting that one leg was black and the other a deep crimson. A matching top, sleeveless and tight, accompanied it, the colors alternated from the pants. At the bottom were a pair of boots, one black and one red; she was sensing a theme. As she lifted the boots out of the box, a piece of paper fell and landed on the table. She read the messy handwriting slowly.

_To MY harlequin. - J _

Edith rolled her eyes, surprised that she felt no anger or irritation. It was somewhat amusing, typical for the man she was just beginning to understand. The clothing had no labels and no tags, as if it had been handmade. The image of the Joker using a sewing machine made her chuckle, and she put the garments back into the box before setting it on the ground out of sight. If he was wanting her to wear that, he was going to be disappointed.

Stepping outside onto the second floor walkway, Edith noticed the group of lackeys congregated on the side of the building. Wuertz and the Joker were standing a fair distance away in the small, gravel parking lot across the hotel. By the time she made it down the stairs and joined the lackeys, Wuertz was leaving in his dark sedan, and the clown was swaggering his way over to the group. The men grew silent, their eyes on their boss.

"I _hate_ to settle," the Joker pouted, wiping a stray tress of hair from his face, "but the show must, ah, go _on_." His eyes scanned over his men and he took a few steps forward before smacking his lips. His freshly-painted face became animated with excitement. "_Now_, this next act will require a bit of, hm, _finesse_. As you all know, tomorrow is Loeby's little, _goodbye party_. You will be given instructions to_night_ on where I expect you to be and what you have to do. Follow it and live, stray from it and die. Any, ah, _questions_?"

Taking their silence as a no, he waved them away with one hand. His eyes fell on Edith as they began to disperse, silently commanding her to stay. When the lackeys had all gone, he took a step towards her.

"You get the box?"

"Which box are you talking about? The doughnut box or the creepy box?"

The Joker laughed, bouncing slightly on his heels. "The creepy box."

"Yeah, I got it. Are you actually expecting me to wear it?"

"_Pumpkin. _Can I call you pumpkin? _It suits you. I like it_," he said, his words spilling out of his mouth excitedly. "Pumpkin, you are, _officially_, as the great people of Gotham would say, a _frea**k**_,_ liiike_ _me_. You gotta dress the part. Have a little fun, _remember_?"

His tone deepened with his last sentence, and he wiggled his brow seductively until he saw a faint smile cross her lips.

"Ah, there it is. Now, it's just you and me tonight on the job. Wear the getup. Be at the van by six."

He moved past her abruptly, walking towards his hotel room.

"Just us?" Edith called out. "What are we doing?"

She barely heard his response, but she could have sworn she heard, "Gettin' Harvey."


	13. A Harlequin's Disguise

More pieces of the movie in this chapter. That being said, typical disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC.

* * *

><p>Alfred entered the secured, underground garage where Bruce had been keeping himself locked away. He watched as the young man typed furiously on the computer, his brow knitted together in concentration. Multiple screens sat around him, plastered with maps and face-recognizing software. Security footage from the fundraiser and Von Grunwald tower, along with the Joker's debut film, played silently on repeat.<p>

"Any luck, sir?"

Bruce stopped typing, his brown eyes gazing up at the screens in front of him. He had watched Edith's grand performance with the Von Grunwald guards more times than he could count. He was usually a good judge of character, but she had successfully played him, and he doubted he was the first. Taking a remote from off the table, he pointed it up and paused one screen on the redhead's bloodied and bruised face; the image was grainy, but it was definitely her.

"Do you think she knows, Alfred?" He asked quietly, his eyes jumping from her face to the Joker's. He worried that their chance meeting at the diner was more than just a coincidence, even if he had been the one to initiate contact.

The older gentleman stepped forward, a sad smile playing across his lips. "I honestly do not know, sir."

Both men remained silent for a moment, then Bruce rose from his chair. He could understand the mob's anger and their desire to have their money back. He had expected as much, but he couldn't grasp the level of desperation that was needed to hire such a madman. And Edith, a woman he barely knew, but whose lethality he no longer questioned: what was her role? How did she tie in? She had no criminal record, no fingerprints in the system. So far, his only concrete evidence were the cellphone records he hacked into, which connected her to both Maroni and Gamble within the last two weeks.

"I knew the mob wouldn't go down without a fight, but this is different," Bruce explained. "They crossed a line."

Alfred's brutal honesty cut like a hot knife. "You crossed the line first, sir. You squeezed them, you pushed them to desperation, and in that desperation, they turned to a man they didn't fully understand."

Bruce mulled over the words, but they didn't sit right with him. He pressed one of the buttons on the control panel beside the computer, forcing part of the concrete floor to give way to the glass case that held his suit.

"Criminals aren't complicated," he replied, studying the armor as it slowly rose from the earth. "We just have to figure out what he's after. And with Green..." He had to find out how much she actually knew.

"With all due respect, Master Wayne, perhaps this is a man _you_ do not fully understand."

Bruce looked to Alfred curiously. The older gentleman approached, his black suit clean and neatly pressed. He spoke of his brief stay in Burma, reliving a time when he and his comrades worked to apprehend a jewel thief that had been raiding caravans and stealing valued gemstones. Despite their efforts, he was never caught. The surprising part, and the point Alfred was making, was that even though the bandit had worked tirelessly to steal and elude capture, he ended up simply throwing the jewels away.

"He thought it was good sport, Master Wayne." Alfred paused, catching the nervous hesitation in his friend's face. "You must realize that some men aren't looking for anything logical. Some men have no reason for what they do. Some men, and even some women," he continued slowly, "simply want to watch the world burn."

* * *

><p>Half past five and the lackeys were in Spade's hotel room, watching sports highlights on the grainy television. It was the only channel whose sound they could actually understand.<p>

"I bet three hundred dollars on the Wildcats, and that damn receiver goes and fumbles the fuckin' ball!" Kerr shouted at the TV. Draining his fifth Corona, he tossed the empty bottle into the corner.

"You better watch yourself," Charlie called out from the bathroom. "You know boss don't like us drinkin' on work nights. Remember what happened to Carlos?"

Kerr rolled his eyes. "Carlos was a little punk. Boss comes at me like that? I'll knock him out."

Laughter erupted from the group.

"Now I'd pay to see that," Spade snorted. "Good luck. Oh, and speakin' of pay, where's my twenty bucks? Eds is still kickin', you know."

"Not for long, not with how she acts. She'll be gone by the end of the week. Bitch will learn her place," interjected Vinny, flipping through the various TV channels.

Spade shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. Coming from her? I think he likes it."

"Likes what?"

The sound of her voice surprised all of them, pulling their eyes from the TV, and their mouths practically dropped at the sight.

Wrapped delicately in black and red leather, her body was checkered like a harlequin; her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. The top she wore had a zipper in the front, the metal pulled up so that it sat in the middle of her chest, revealing the swell of her breasts. The hem of the top fell just above her black belt, the pale skin of her waist showing with her movement. She stood in the doorway, a hand on her hip. One eyebrow raised as she waited for an answer, but the goons only gaped at her.

"Whatever," she sighed. "I came to see if you had any extra clown masks, but I see you're all in the middle of a jerk circle. I'll just come back later."

Turning to leave, Charlie's voice caught her.

"Is _that_ what was in that box? Ha, now you really gotta pay Spade, Kerr. Boss thinks she's a keeper!"

"Excuse me?" Edith replied, her tone dangerous.

"Calm your tits," Vinny spat, his legs outstretched on the bed. "He's just sayin' that the boss ain't gonna kill you like we thought. At least not right now."

"To answer your question," Spade said. He moved on the bed to grab the wrinkled twenty dollar bill Kerr held out to him. "We don't got any masks. You gotta get that from the boss."

_Of course_, Edith thought irritably. As she headed towards the clown's lair, she caught her reflection in the hotel window. She looked ridiculous, but she figured that was the point; shock and awe, put on a show, play the part. She had to admit that the outfit was flattering to her curves, and the idea that the Joker had that in mind made her face burn. Straightening her back, she strode confidently down the walkway towards his room. If she was going to play the part, she was going to do it right; she wanted a disguise.

She stood out in the cold, two minutes seeming like two hours, and her knocks went unacknowledged. The door was unlocked.

"Just so you know, I knocked. Don't get all pissy," she called out, stepping into the hotel.

An empty room greeted her, the sheets of the bed rumpled from their recent escapade. The TV remained on, volume low, and the bathroom light was off. Satisfied that he wasn't there, she turned to leave and collided with a wall of purple and green.

He stood in the doorway, freshly-painted eyes blazing with irritation. She put some distance between them, hands raising in mock defeat.

"Hey, I knocked."

His fingers twitched idly against his sides, his glare sliding down her body. His expression changed, white and red greasepaint cracking with his stretching lips.

"Red and black suit you."

"Why,_ thank you_, boss," Edith quipped. "Where did you even get these? They fit a little too perfectly."

The Joker shrugged. "Look at the, ah, _tags_."

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was only toying with her. The irritation in his eyes had dissipated, having been replaced with heated amusement. He moved past her to the dresser that held the TV and began to rummage through the drawers. Knives, guns, playing cards - all thrown onto the bed for later use.

"I'm willing to play whatever role _this_ is," she said, hand waving down her form, "but it feels incomplete."

That got his attention. He paused and turned his head, his greenish hair curtaining his eyes. Edith continued.

"I'm thinking some kind of disguise. A clown mask like the others, maybe? I was told to come to you."

He grinned, and it made her uneasy. Turning to her, he leaned against the dresser, one foot crossed over the other. His tongue darted out over his bottom lip, his eyes darkening with a predatory glaze.

"A _disguise_," he mused, letting the syllables roll over his tongue. "I'm afraid I'm all out of those, cupcake. You see, _this_," he motioned up to his face, "isn't a disguise."

His tone was suddenly angry as he moved towards her, his stride dangerously slow. Edith backed herself up until she was pressed against the door, her hand coming up to stop him. Her palm rested flat against the soft fabric of his vest.

"Mm, _scared_?"

He was clearly pleased, looming over her like a tower. The dim, yellow light silhouetted his frame.

"Not in the slightest," she replied, and it was the truth. She wasn't frightened by the man in front of her. Rather, she was disturbed by how comfortable she felt around him, and how she wanted nothing more than to rip his clothes off. She had to keep some distance.

When she was satisfied he wouldn't come closer, she let her hand slip from his chest.

"Just give me something I can cover my face with."

"_Why_?"

"Well, _why_ do you cover yours?"

His smile faded. "Like I said, this is not a dis-guise-_ah_."

He stepped back, holding his arms out in show of his famous getup.

"With me, what you see is what you get, but _youuu_? You, _Edith_, want a mask to _hide_ yourself. _You_ want a mask so that you can pretend to be something you're no**_t_**. You're different than them," he said, waving his hand to the imaginary crowd. "You're different, and you're trying so hard to change. It's cute. Really, it is, but I'm sure it's just ex_haust_ing. And, you know, _pump_kin, I like you just the way you are."

Every single one of her muscles were tight with resistance. He looked to her with uncharacteristically soft eyes, stained teeth showing in an accepting smile.

"Stop talking like you know me. You _don't_ know me."

She doubted her opposition sounded convincing; she didn't even believe herself. Unsurprisingly, The Joker rolled his eyes, his lips smacking in boredom. He turned his back, abruptly ending their conversation, but Edith was far from giving up.

"Fine, let's compromise. No mask, but you'll let me use your greasepaint. I'll even let you put it on," she added with a sly smirk.

His lanky form paused. Shoulders hunched in his signature posture, she knew his scars were on the verge of splitting open from a smile. Without a word, he moved to the bathroom, his hand motioning for her to follow, and she gave herself a mental high five for the victory.

* * *

><p>She sat on the lid of the toilet with her hands placed on her knees. Empty greasepaint tins littered the counter and linoleum. Red, black, and white was smeared across the broken ceramic, staining the grout. With a tin in his ungloved hand, the Joker kneeled in front of her.<p>

"A mask? Nonono, _**no**_," he mumbled, his fingers dipping into the white paint. "But this? Well, this is art."

Edith remained still, eyes closing when she felt the cool stickiness of the greasepaint against her cheek. His ministrations were surprisingly gentle, fingertips running the line of her jaw and spreading the paint over her features. Once done, he grabbed a tin of black.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, eyes opening to his satisfied expression. He was focused, chewing on his scars, but he met her gaze.

"You can't hide," he replied. He ran his black-stained fingers across her lips slowly, the action strangely seductive. "Not from me."

His fingers moved to her eyes, applying gentle pressure against her lids and brow. "Don't pretend to be one of them. You'll _never_ be one of them."

He stood, and she opened her eyes, looking up as he observed his work. His eyes flashed with something dark, something she recognized, and she was suddenly uncomfortable. He looked as if he were about to pounce, but a knock from outside the hotel room grabbed his attention.

"Kerr and Vinny are out gettin' the targets," Spade called through the closed door. When it swung open, his voice didn't falter. "They left twenty minutes ago. Van is ready when you are, boss."

Edith stepped out of the bathroom, catching the lackey's eye before the door closed. The Joker spun on his heels.

"Show time!"

The items on the bed were being crammed into a large duffel bag while Edith was in the bathroom, taking in her new look. His make-up was messy, smeaered, and unlike hers completely. Her paint was smooth and clean, is if it were her real skin. With lips and eyes painted black, she looked like the real deal. He had even angled the paint so that a diamond sat against one of her lids.

With the clown barking at her to hurry up, she followed him to the van.

"Looks like you got your mask," Spade said to Edith from the driver's seat.

She settled on one of the benches, following the Joker's lead. From the duffel bag, the clown pulled out a couple dozen knives and placed them in various coat pockets.

"Where are we headed, Spadey?"

"You mean you don't know?"

Despite her playful tone, the clown's glare was sharp and warning.

"It's called a test, cupcake. Be a good girl and keep quiet, or I'll give you a pretty set of scars to finish your look. Now, _Spade_, where are we headed?"

"Southern Belle apartments, 8th and Orchard. White is meeting us there."

The blade in the Joker's hand went unused, indicating that he was pleased with the lackey's answer. Merging onto the expressway, they were heading back into the Narrows. The Southern Belle was a run down building, sparsely occupied, wreaking of mold. While Spade remained in the van, the Joker and Edith entered the building through the alley, the door having been left ajar with an empty Corona bottle; Kerr's doing, without a doubt. Seven flights of stairs and a couple turns brought them to room 708; muffled shouts could be heard from within. The Joker pounded loudly, and a middle-aged, bug-eyed man opened the door.

"Ay, 'bout time," the man said, moving aside so they could enter.

The apartment was small and dingy, rotten food scattered over the tabletops and floor. Edith's eyes fell to the left, used needles and tourniquets strewn about a coffee table; she felt her throat constrict. To the right of the door sat a round dining table; Kerr and Vinny were securing two struggling men to the chairs. At the sight of the Joker, their struggling intensified.

"Quit your sobbin'," Vinny growled, pulling one of the men by the hair. "Show some respect, ya?"

The Joker's eyes swept over the apartment quickly before landing on the bug-eyed loon.

"_Melvin_," he greeted with a yellowed grin, "so _good_ to see you. How was Arkham?"

Melvin sneered. "A hell hole. Er, thanks, I guess, fer gettin' me out. The guy in this apartment put up one helluva fight. Knocked me right in my face. I'm wantin' a little extra fer my pain and sufferin', but he's in the bottom o' the river like you asked fer."

The Joker nodded. "A little extra? Sure thing, sure thing! _Hey_, do me a favor, hm? Load this gun for me."

The clown handed Melvin a 28 caliber and a box of bullets. He took it without question, loading the pistol and mumbling something about money. The hostages had grown silent, their eyes wide, glued to the weapon; their already paled skin grew sallow.

"_Aight_, here you are," Melvin said, handing the gun back to the clown. "So where's my money?"

The Joker pocketed the pistol and cupped the loon's gaunt face with gloved hands.

"_Meeelvinmelvinmelvin, _how many times have I told you? The money doesn't matter!" His words were mixed between a cackle and a sneer. "I mean, _c'mon_, you can't take it with you! At least not where you're going."

Melvin barely had time to register his words before the clown twisted his head sharply to the side. His neck snapped with a sickening crack, and the lifeless body crumpled to the floor. With a snap of his fingers, Vinny and Kerr were hauling the corpse out of the apartment, leaving him and Edith alone with the hostages. When the door closed, the Joker skipped to the table and plopped into the third chair. The men stared at him, eyes overflowing in anger and fear.

"_So_, I'm sure you're wondering why you're both here. _Well_," the clown said, clapping his hands, "you've been chosen to be the opening act for tomorrow's performance. _Toots_, be a doll and hand me that newspaper, will ya?"

Temper boiling, Edith looked to the newspaper that sat on the counter to her left. Tomorrow's paper, Mayor Garcia's face gracing the cover.

She threw it at him.

He caught it with ease and yammered on, doodling on the front page of the paper and giving the mayor a beautiful red smile. He stabbed one of his switchblade's into the paper, keeping it in place.

"You see, _Officer_ Harvey, and, _Officer_ Dent," he continued. "You should be honored. Only a select few leave me with a _smile_."

The Joker turned to face Edith, and time seemed to slow.

She hadn't seen Harvey working against his restraints, but he was free, the Joker's discarded blade in his hand. Without hesitation, Edith rushed passed the Joker, catching the officer's assault; the blade sliced her abdomen, an attack meant for the clown's spine. She growled angrily, kicking the man in the chest with so much force, he crashed back into his chair. Bloody and fuming, she snatched the switchblade from him and held him by the throat. She leaned down, practically sitting in his lap, pressing the knife against his cheek.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that you shouldn't hit a lady?"

Despite his position, Harvey laughed, the sound hoarse. "I don't see any ladies here. All I see is a lunatic's whore."

The grip on his throat tightened, but she let her eyes glaze over with seductiveness.

"I've played a lot of roles, _officer_," she crooned, releasing his throat and slowly unraveling his tie. She kept the blade against his throat. "But out of _all_ the roles I've played, I think you'd like my version of a whore the best."

She slammed his head down onto the table without warning, and the wood cracked around his skull. Officer Dent winced and screamed at the sound, his eyes glistening with tears. With Harvey now unconscious, Edith let his face rest on the table. She turned to the Joker, who had remained quiet while she played with her food.

He looked at her with pleased curiosity, but pouted like a child.

"Now look what you've done. He won't be able to enjoy the smile I give him."

"I'll be giving him his smile," Edith replied. She twirled the switchblade between her fingers, ignoring the blood that now soaked her front. The cut was deep, but not lethal. She would definitely need stitches.

"Be my guest," the Joker said, his smile as wicked as hers.

He was soon in front of her, his hand scraping against the dried blood on her waist.

His lips moved to her ear.

"I'd love to watch."


	14. Not the Sharing Kind

Enjoy! R&R, please! Much appreciated. Story moving along, character development, yaddayadda. How do you like it so far?

**Violence, sex, the works. Rated M for a reason.**

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><p><em>Blood.<em>

There was _so_ much of it.

So much that it left him giddy.

It covered her slender hands, dripping between her beautiful fingers as she sliced open flesh. He watched her as she worked, his groin twitching in response to the smirk he saw. The gurgled screams of Officer Harvey were glorious, and by the time she was done, his lifeless body was slumped over the table; his jaw hung by its hinges.

With duct tape over his mouth, Officer Dent was hyperventilating, eyes red and wide. Edith turned to the Joker, blade in hand. She tossed the weapon to him.

"Next one is all yours," she said. Her body was soaked red; the cut in her abdomen continued to bleed. Her face had paled considerably.

She sat on the armchair across the room, suddenly lightheaded. Her body slouched against the soft cushion, and she caught sight of the drugs and needles scattered over the coffee table. Cocaine, heroine, meth; she felt sick. She could hear the clown talking, Officer Dent screaming, but it all sounded so far away.

The last thing she remembered before blacking out was the Joker crouching in front of her, and the stinging pain of his hand against her cheek.

* * *

><p><em>And she was out.<em>

Turning from a now very dead Dent, he could see her fading. The bleeding had slowed, but she had lost a fair amount; enough to knock her out. A slap in the face only pushed her into unconsciousness. Growling, he pulled out the two-way radio in his pocket.

"Get Vinny and Kerr back up here."

The radio crackled briefly before Spade's voice came through.

"On their way."

Turning his attention back to his playmates, the Joker grabbed a couple tins of greasepaint from his duffel bag. Vinny and Kerr entered the apartment as he was beginning to paint the corpses.

"Bring the girl down to the van," he ordered, his focus on his work. "Put pressure on the wound."

The lackeys did as they were told, moving out of the apartment as quickly as they could. Edith wasn't heavy, but she was dead weight nonetheless, and the seven flights of stairs were brutal.

"What the hell do you think she did? She must've pissed off the boss," Kerr said. His eyes were over his shoulder, watching his step as they descended the stairs.

"Boss wouldn't cut her just to save her. Unless they're in to really weird shit."

"Would that surprise you?"

Vinny laughed. "Nah, I guess not."

They put her on the floor of the van alongside White's body. Kerr used the man's jacket to put pressure on her abdomen, and Spade looked at them from over his shoulder.

"_Jesus_, what happened to her this time?"

"Your guess is as good as ours," Vinny replied. He sat on one of the benches, arms crossed and feet resting on White's back. Despite the rapid breathing and occasional groan, Edith remained unconscious.

Twenty minutes passed before the Joker emerged from the apartment. He threw open the back doors of the van, eyes blaring at the two bodies on the floor.

"Both of you, _out_," he barked to Vinny and Kerr. "Dump White and get back to the Mile."

"Where do you want us to dump him, boss?" Kerr asked as he took hold of the loon's feet.

"I don't care. Just do it."

The two lackeys scurried away with the body. Their gray sedan sat on the other side of the alley, and after shoving White into the trunk, they sped off around the corner. The Joker took Vinny's seat on the bench, cell phone in hand. Spade observed him from the rear view mirror, watching as his fingers fluttered over the keypad. Whoever answered barely had time to speak before the clown interrupted.

"8th and Orchard. You'll find Harvey Dent there."

Hanging up the phone, he put one foot on top of the discarded jacket that lay across Edith and applied pressure. He caught Spade's disquieted eyes in the mirror, his command slipping through clenched teeth.

"_Drive_."

* * *

><p>Her eyes opened slowly, grazing over the water-stained ceiling of the hotel. She was on a bed, limbs sprawled. Something dry and sticky covered her hands. She lifted them up to her face, studying the brownish-red color. Blood. Whose blood? Her blood? She felt lightheaded. The memories came back to her. The cop had cut her badly. She had defended the Joker. Why? She had cut open the cop's mouth in retaliation and had liked it.<p>

Lifting herself up on her forearms, Edith winced at the throbbing pain in her abdomen. She looked down, noticing that her top was missing, her naked chest exposed. Her front was smeared in dried blood, with the exception of the laceration that sat just below her ribs. The five inches of torn flesh had been cleaned, the edges stitched together by expert hands. Edith forced herself to stand on shaky legs, the movement squeezing watery blood from the wound. She recognized the mismatched blankets on the bed, the blue duffel bag by the door. She recognized the sound of running water, and her desire for a shower was overwhelming.

She discarded her boots and tore off her pants. Naked, she pushed past the blob of purple that stood in the doorway of the bathroom. Her shoulder collided with the wall of the shower as she stumbled in. The cold water hit her body before she could even reach the taps, forcing her to yelp in surprise. Eyes closed and equilibrium off, her feet slopped out from under her, but she didn't hit the floor. Her face was pressed against something warm and wet. Cotton, velvet, silk; heated water now dripping off her chin and onto his clothes.

"What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

His voice was deep, vibrating through his chest. With the cold water having woken her, she could see him a little more clearly. She looked to him, his painted face melting, swirling, dripping, and mixing with her own. His ungloved hands were on her low back, steadying her, bringing her naked body flush with his. Despite the pain, she pressed herself against him, and her fingers traced the grooves of his scars. He shook his wet hair from his eyes and allowed her moist tongue to slip past his lips. A content sigh filled his mouth as she relished the taste of blood and paint. His sopping trench coat was thrown from the shower; his vest, tie, and hexagon-patterned shirt soon joined it on the floor.

Groping hands traveled the length of her body, avoiding the stitches while she unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants from his hips. He spun her, her back now pressed against the cool tile. With one leg draped over his naked hip, Edith ground down into him, forcing his erection to slide up against her inner thigh. She swallowed his moan, one hand in his hair and the other holding him in between her legs, stroking him furiously. His lips were soon on her neck, biting in between ragged breaths as he granted her a few delicious moments of control.

But then his need for dominance became all-consuming.

He ripped her hand away and held her hips steady, thrusting his entire length into her. She greeted his entry with a scream, clinging to him and wrapping her other leg around his waist. He held one thigh in his hand, his hips pushing her into the tile for support. His other hand kneaded a breast, his head dipping to capture the taunt flesh of the nipple between his teeth. He teased her with exceptionally slow ministrations, her body sliding up and down the wall as he rutted her. The muscles of his shoulder were between her teeth, stifling her screams. Uncaring of the pain, she moved with him as best she could, pressing her shoulders against the tile and rotating her hips gloriously.

The man in front of her was someone she had never seen; a face void of paint, the only color being that of tanned flesh; faint streaks of the maniacal terrorist dripping from his chin. She recognized his scars, the way his eyes burned with hate and lust, and a strong, callused hand squeezed her throat.

"_Tell me you want it_."

She did. God help her, she did. She_ loved_ it, wanted more, but his grip denied her the air necessary for speech.

Mouth slack and brained clouded by a lack of oxygen, Edith climaxed hard around his throbbing length. He released her throat, her screams coming in frantic gasps as he pounded her into the wall, his thrusts wild and fierce. Moving so that his hands rested on either side of her head, he gave her more room to move her hips. Her heels dug into the base of his spine, pulling him in deeper and pushing him over the edge. An animal-like groan was ripped from his throat and he buried into her, his entire body convulsing. She felt his release drench her core, and they would have toppled over if he hadn't had her pinned to the wall.

Panting and lightheaded, Edith leaned her head back against the tile and stared up through the stream. The Joker's lips were on her collarbone, his tongue moving sensually against her skin as he composed himself. She unwrapped her legs when she felt him pull away, and the sting of the hot water made her wince. Looking down, she saw her stitches had broke open. Blood trickled down her belly and in between her legs. The Joker was out of the shower, drying himself off with a paint-stained towel. He tossed the dirty linen to her, successfully hitting her in the face.

"Get out. I have to redo your stitches."

Edith tore the towel from her head, drying her body and wiping away the semen that had dripped down her thighs. She wrapped the course fabric around her and found the Joker sitting at the end of the bed. He wore a pair of wrinkled, navy slacks and white t-shirt; the blue duffel bag rested at his feet.

"Lie down," he commanded, standing and motioning to the bed.

"I can stitch myself up," she replied. "I've done it before."

She sat on the bed, clutching the towel close to her body. Blood had already begun to seep through, and various medical supplies were soon piled beside her.

"_I'm_ stitchin' you up. Lie down. Towel off."

He sat next to her, and Edith remained unmoved. Her eyes were glued to his bare face. Any trace of paint had long been washed away, but his scars were stained a faint pink. She watched as the tissue bunched together in an amused smirk, trying to imagine what he would look like without them.

But she couldn't; she didn't want to. He was incredibly handsome with his permanent grin; twisted, evil, and he fucked like a god. He caught her fingers as she reached up to touch his face.

"Ah, ah, no," he chided. "You've touched enough for one night. Now, _lie down_."

A hand on her shoulder guided her to her back, and she felt the towel peel away. Naked and exposed, she felt no embarrassment; he had seen everything already, had claimed it as his. With glossy eyes, she watched as he took a clean needle and thread. The metal pierced her skin, and it was nothing more than a dull ache. Her brain had fogged over, either from the blood loss or the intense orgasm. Maybe both. When he was done, he covered the area with gauze and paper tape.

"Mmm, barely felt a thing," she crooned, eyes closed, her voice unfamiliar in her own ears. "You stitch almost as good as you fuck."

She heard him chuckle and felt the bed shift with his weight.

"It's gonna leave a gorgeous scar, pumpkin. Wanna know how I got mine?"

She opened her eyes. He was leaning over her, one hand running up the length of her nude curves.

"I do, but I know you won't tell me the truth," she replied evenly. "A mean dad? A sad wife? Neither of those are true. Way too cliché for a man like you."

"A man like me, hm? Now who's claiming to know who?"

Edith smiled, pulling herself up further onto the bed so that her head rested on one of the pillows. Chilled, she covered herself with one of the scratchy blankets, watching the muted news while the Joker slipped into the bathroom. Exhaustion plagued her.

"Clever joke, by the way," she yawned, eyes closing. "Harvey and Dent. Harvey Dent. Are we killing Garcia tomorrow?"

He emerged from the bathroom, a pile of soaked purple cloth in his arms. He draped his suit over various surfaces so they would dry.

"We? _No_. Me? Yes. But you'll all have your _part_."

Soft snores erupted from the bed, and he turned quickly towards the offending noise. _Asleep_; in _his_ bed. It made him angry, made him want to stab her awake, but then he remembered that _she_ was _his_. A masterpiece in the making, his bloody little harlequin. She had taken a knife for him. He hadn't planned that. A nice surprise, an action he would have reciprocated, but only because he _hated_ when people touched his things.

That was another thing they had in common.

Like her, he wasn't the sharing kind.


	15. The Man Behind the Mask

Hope you enjoy this chapter! Tried to make it fast-paced without compromising content or character development. What do you think so far? Reviews always appreciated. Thanks for the favs, follows, and comments so far!

**This chapter contains violence and adult themes.**

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><p><em>The rough concrete of the warehouse floor had torn into her flesh, showing little mercy. Now, her shoulder was shredded and bleeding like a bitch.<br>_

_Her eye burned and throbbed; it was already beginning to swell. Her vision blurred. _

_She heard the angry Italian approach, felt him grab her hair, and she was suddenly forced to her feet. His other hand squeezed her cheeks, and though her eyes stung from the pain, she refused to cry. She refused to show this man any fear. His fierce glare softened slightly once their eyes met and his grip loosened. Maroni's voice was gentle, sending a rush of fear run down her spine._

_"Look, Eddie. I've put a lot of time into you, and lots of money. So, you can imagine my disappointment when I have to have one of my guys clean up your mess."_

_A fist landed in her stomach. _

_Edith sputtered and coughed, dropping to her knees when he released her hair. Maroni's steps retreated, allowing her a brief sigh of relief, but then the metal door to the warehouse screeched open. The pained groaning of a man echoed off the walls. The sixteen-year-old looked up, recognizing his face even with her worsening vision._

_Her target. The one that got away. __She couldn't remember his name, but he had gotten the upper hand, had knocked her out and escaped. Now, his face was bruised, bloody; his eyes swollen like hers. Maroni's two goons dragged him to the middle of the room and dropped him at their boss' feet. _

_"You're lucky we found him," Maroni growled. He kicked the man so that he was on his back, then turned to her, gun in hand. "Come here and finish the job."_

_When she didn't move, she found herself staring down the barrel of the gun, his fingers once again tearing at her hair. Cold metal pressed against her cheek._

_"I'll put a bullet in your mouth and blow your pretty brain all over the wall, little puppet_."

_He yanked her over to her target, her knees scraping against the ground and leaving thin trails of blood behind her. Pulling her up to her feet, he shoved her forward with so much force, she nearly toppled over. Maroni put the gun in her hand and stepped back, his arms crossing expectantly. _

_Edith looked from the gun in her hand to the man on the floor. The target's red-rimmed eyes looked up at her through the swelling, pleading for mercy. She felt nothing; no pity, no remorse. What was mercy, anyway? She couldn't care less whether this man, whose name she would never bother to learn, lived or died._

_But she pointed the gun at Maroni's chest_.

_The mob boss chuckled, waving his approaching lackeys away. His head tilted in amusement and pride._

_"Do it. Show me what you're made of, sweetheart. No? You can't? Of course not. You're nothing without me. Maybe you'd last a week before you relapse. Fucking junkie. They'd find your dead body by the dumpster. It's where you belong."_

_The corners of her tiny mouth turned downward, and her non-swollen eye was narrowed into an angry slit. He could see her mind churning, working through the situation. She needed him, and she hated that. Barely clean; another relapse would kill her. _

_Keeping her eyes locked with his, she lowered the gun to her target. She pulled the trigger, unaffected by the deafening pop or the spray of blood that washed over the side of her face._

_With her fierce glare unwavering, she let the gun fall to the floor_.

* * *

><p>She woke slowly, keeping her eyes closed and inhaling the faint stench of gasoline. Something heavy was draped over her waist, and she looked down at the relaxed muscle of his forearm, his hands clean of paint. Dry blood sat beneath his finger nails, his skin was hot to the touch. It stirred up memories of wet tile, steam, and frantic moans. She felt the fabric of his white shirt graze her naked back with every rise and fall of his chest; a blanket covered her lower half.<p>

Carefully, Edith shifted under his arm to move closer to the edge. He was snoring; she was starving. How could he sleep through the racket her stomach was making? After only moving a few inches, she felt his muscles tighten, and his snoring ceased.

"I didn't take you for the cuddling type," Edith whispered playfully. The weight across her middle was removed, and she turned over to face him, wincing against the ache in her abdomen. His eyes were glazed with groggy confusion, but they snapped to attention when she chuckled.

The room was dark, with no light filtering through the thin curtains. She could see his face from the flickering glow of the TV. He seemed to be studying her, his scars rippling as his tongue ran across the inside of his cheeks. His eyes slowly closed and his voice was thick with sleep.

"What time is it?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? Early, I'm guessing. It's still dark."

He turned to his other side, his back now to her. She could make out the outline of his shoulders through the white shirt, lean muscles rippling with his movement. His navy pants sat low on his hips.

She felt strangely comfortable beside him, finding the situation unnerving; maybe a little humorous. He loved to dominate, that much was obvious, but she knew how much he loved for her to resist.

_A little fight?_ Well she was a hell of a lot more than that.

The Joker rolled onto his back, cell phone in hand; the time read 4:56 AM.

With a growling yawn, he stretched his arms out and smacked Edith in the face with his elbow. She brought her hand to her nose, certain it was bleeding, and glared at his rising form.

"What the fuck! That actually really hurt."

"I'd apologize, but I, ah, know first hand that you _like it_ when it hurts."

He cackled, clearly pleased with himself, and Edith pulled the blanket up to cover her exposed chest. She watched as he stalked around the room, turning on the lights and checking on his suit, kicking things out of his path. Her stomach growled, the gnawing pain carrying waves of nausea.

"Do you have anything to eat around here? The last thing I ate was a bite of stale doughnut yesterday."

He moved to the foot of the bed, disappearing behind the mattress as he crouched to the floor. She could see the top of his scraggly hair, and the sound of plastic bags left her curious. Sitting up, she kept the blanket close to her chest and craned her neck to see him. He rose with plastic bag in hand, the contents of which were dumped at her feet.

Candy, chips, granola bars; not the most well-balanced meal, but she salivated at the sight.

Claiming what she could hold in two hands, she put her prizes in her lap. Never one for manners or caring what others thought of her, she crammed the food into her mouth, not bothering to chew her bites completely before swallowing. She pushed the trash and empty wrappers to the floor while the Joker watched her in curiosity. It was as if she was in her own world, and he recognized the distant, yet overly alert expression.

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of socks.

"How long were you homeless?"

Edith stopped mid-bite. "Why are you asking that?"

Socks on, the Joker moved for his shoes.

"Well, _for one_, you shovel food in your mouth like it's your last meal. That or you're, ha, _scared_ someone might steal it from you. Classi**_c_** behavior."

"What are you, a fucking shrink? Maybe I'm just really hungry, you jackass."

He laughed, leaning back and resting on his side so he could face her. He looked relaxed, one elbow propped underneath him. The green in his hair had faded, revealing more of his natural, dirty blonde color. His eyes sparked with amusement.

"No need to get so, testy, Eddie baby. Being homeless is _nothing_ be ashamed of."

She ignored him, and he didn't like that. Having had enough of her being in her own little world, he pounced, trapping her blanket-covered hips between his thighs. With her back against the headboard, he towered over her only by an inch.

She glared at him, hands preoccupied with a candy wrapper and a mouth full of chocolate. When he was satisfied that he had her undivided attention, he relaxed and sat back on her knees.

She swallowed with a frown and sighed, arms crossing over her covered chest.

"_Fine_. Define homeless."

"You need a _definition_?" he asked, interest peeked.

"Well, do you consider jumping from hotel to hotel homeless?"

The Joker's lips pouted slightly, an expression she had seen before; he was thinking.

"Mmm, no, but we'll, ah, come back to _that_."

Edith rolled her eyes. "I was homeless and on my own from when I was eight to when I was fourteen. Started working for the mob and have had a roof over my head since. Happy? Now, tell me something about you."

"I like knives."

"Don't play stupid; something I _don't_ know. What's your name? Dave, Steve, John?"

He moved from on top of her and slid off the bed, pulling a wrinkled a jacket up from the floor. Her harlequin pants were soon tossed in her direction. She looked at him, brow furrowed with his sudden change in demeanor, though she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. It was like walking on egg shells.

He moved towards the door, his arms slipping into the jacket sleeves. When he spoke, his voice lacked all amusement.

"Get dressed. No getup this time, normal clothes. Be at the van in twenty."

The door slammed shut with so much force, Edith was certain the windows would break.

* * *

><p><em>One, three, five, seven.. an eighth to the team. What'shisface from Arkham.. Ah, right, Schizo Schiff, aka Mr. Rachel For a Day.<em>

They stood around the van like good little pets, everyone accounted for except..

"Where's the girl?"

"In here," Edith called out from inside the van. The back doors were ajar; he could see the heels of her black boots barely grazing the asphalt.

"She, uh, started bleeding," Axel explained nervously.

Scared? _Good. He should be_.

Arm not in a sling, so not broken, sprained. _Too bad. _

The Joker licked the corner of one scar, missing the bitter taste that usually accompanied the habit. The lackeys looked at him with more fear now than they did when his face was painted in glorious color. The irony was hilarious.

He moved around to the back of the van, pushing past Schiff, who shrunk back with misplaced laughter. He found his harlequin sitting on the edge of the bumper, her sweatshirt bunched up under her breasts as she finished the last of her stitches. _Shoddy work, at best__. _Blood beaded around the wound, crimson pearls against creamy, pale skin. She looked up at him, blood-stained needle in hand.

A smile and a wink. Such simple movements, muscles barely contracting, but her actions sent a rush of heat to his groin. Angry, he smiled; an unwelcoming glint in his eye, and she saw it. Her smirk twitched downward.

Shoving her aside, he hopped into the van and barked his orders.

"Time to move!"

The lackeys obeyed, scrambling like headless chickens as he clapped his hands impatiently.

* * *

><p>The sun was only just starting to rise, the street lamps blaring down on the asphalt. The city was eerily quiet, with the exception of the GC Honor Guard. They had shown up early in full uniform to do a run through of the routine before Loeb's funeral procession. The eight men marched, turned, and raised their rifles in unison, standing before the podium that had been erected the previous night.<p>

Edith had watched them so many times from the fifth floor window, she felt she could do it, but that wasn't her job. No, she was tasked with making sure no one in the apartment building got in their way. Her job was to _babysit_ the guards while the boys had all the fun, which irritated her beyond belief. The apartment was empty, gutted, and smelled like cigarettes and burnt rubber. Practice was 6:00-7:00 with the procession starting six blocks south at 8:45. How the Joker managed to get the nitty-gritty details would always amaze her.

Right on schedule, the men stopped their practice. They made their way to the van that held their belongings, moving out of her sight. Though she couldn't see them, she knew what to expect. There came a few shouts, sounds of struggle, and she could have sworn she heard the clown laugh.

_Thirty minutes._ That was all the time the Joker had allotted for them to subdue eight armed men. While it seemed unrealistic, Edith followed her orders, waiting impatiently for the time to tick by.

She moved down to the first floor at 7:25 and opened the emergency exit door. Spade entered from the alley, one of the smaller guards unconscious and bent over his muscular shoulder. Kerr and Lou carried in another guard together, then came Vinny and Charlie, one by one until each guard and the entire misfit circus were crammed in the hallway.

"Alright, one hour," the Joker growled. "Upstairs, now."

They moved quickly, and by time all eight guards were in the apartment, it was already 8:05. They were stripped of their uniforms, clothes flying in every direction. As they worked, Edith pulled back the shade of one window carefully, observing the now crowded street. A heavy police presence meant snipers; she figured the Joker assumed this too.

He stood beside her, setting up a sniper scope and some contraption connected to an egg timer. He had already changed, the uniform fitting surprisingly well, and his slick hair now sat beneath a fancy five-point hat. The lackeys were following his lead, exchanging uniforms to find the ones that fit them best. Spade was securing the guards, taping and roping them together around the pillar in the middle of the room.

"8:30, boss," he called out.

He was the only lackey not in uniform, and had stuffed the others' clothes in his own duffel bag. Always the driver, he was to keep the van parked in the garage lot on the other side of the building. Level A, near the entrance. Easy to find.

Given the time, the clown waved them out of the apartment.

When the group had gone, he surprised Edith, grabbing her chin painfully with a white-gloved hand. His clean face was inches from hers, lips curling over stained teeth. She showed no fear, only irritation, and his other hand caught her rising fist. He shoved her against the wall, the plaster cracking beneath her back. She would have attacked had he not picked up his rifle. Her hand was on the handle of the revolver she had stolen from him days earlier.

"_Tease_ me in front of my boys again, cupcake, and I'll let them watch the next time I fuck you."

His words were meant to disgust her, own her, make her scared, but all they did was arouse her. She straightened her back, strands of her hair caught in the broken wall.

"Promise?"

"_C_ross my _hear**t**_."

He pointed the rifle at the egg timer. "Gun salute at 9:45. Make sure that timer goes off. If it doesn't, open the shade yourself."

He added with a grin, "Just be sure to _duck_."

* * *

><p>She was bored, but the not-so-soothing blare of the bagpipes kept her on her toes, warding off any inkling of sleep. A few of the guards had begun to stir awake, a few struggled against their restraints.<p>

"W-who's there?" asked one guard. His voice was muffled by duct tape, but she heard his question clearly.

"Don't talk with your mouth covered," Edith chided. "It's not polite."

She tightened the restraints around his legs. The rope had barely left a mark so far, so she tightened it just a little more.

_9:39_.

Almost show time, and she moved towards the window, carefully pushing the shade so she could see a sliver of the street below. There was a podium full of people, a street lined with cops and uniforms. She could hear Mayor Garcia's voice echoing.

"_Commissioner Loeb dedicated his life to law enforcement and the protection of his community_.."

Though the mayor's speech continued, Edith was no longer listening. Something in the other room caught her attention: a noise. Soft, brief, but she was more vigilant than most. She moved out of the room, slipping across the hallway and shielding herself behind a wall as the knob to the front door turned. It was slowly and carefully opened, but she couldn't see who it was. She wouldn't risk being seen. The footsteps were too light to be one of the goons, too slow to be a cop on a rescue mission; and there was only one. She heard the person move into the room where the guards sat.

She heard the sound of duct tape being pulled from skin, followed by a frantic "who is it?" from one of the guards.

"What happened?"

_That voice_. She recognized it. The deep, guttural tone was excitingly familiar, and there wasn't a doubt in her mind. She knew that man, and her smile could have rivaled the Joker's.

Revolver in hand, she turned the corner, expecting to see the giant bat in all his glory, and she was not disappointed. It wasn't the Batman, but it was the next best thing.

It was the man behind the mask.

He turned to her, eyes widening.

_9:43._

"I wouldn't touch that timer, Batman," Edith warned, her smile deepening. "Who knows what the Joker has it hooked up to. Might be a bomb."

The glare Bruce gave her sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She stepped forward, revolver aimed at his chest.

"You know what he has planned, Green."

She pouted. "Last names? How sad. We had so much fun together too, but yes, you're right. I know exactly what's going to happen next."

"I doubt that."

Edith saw a glimpse of a smirk before she felt hot metal slice her face. The weapon he had flung at her was some kind of boomerang, and it clattered to the floor next to her along with the revolver. Bruce advanced with amazing speed, kicking the gun from her reach and immobilizing her with a hand to her throat. She laughed, the sound forced through her crunched airway. Blood from her cheek dripped onto his hand.

"You have, thirty seconds to stop, whatever that timer is ticking for, Batman," she rasped. Her delicate hands were wrapped around his wrist, her cheeks red.

He looked at her with a conflicted, pained expression before dropping her and rushing to the window.

Edith coughed and heaved, scrambling for her revolver as she spoke.

"I knew there was something off about you. Such a small world we live in."

The timer dinged and the shade flew up.

Bruce narrowly missed the sniper bullet that shattered the window. Screams erupted from the street.

Turning, he found that Edith had fled, taking the revolver and his batarang with her.


	16. A Barrel of Laughs

Working hard to get this story out when I have the inspiration to do so. Editing and embellishment may happen in the future. R&R, please; let me know what you think! I'm glad people find my OC to be believable as it's been hard to do. Enjoy!

**This chapter contains all the goodness an M-rated chapter should have. You've been warned.**

* * *

><p>Her hair whipped wildly in her face. Her eyes stung from the cold.<p>

Edith ran as fast as she could. She ran until her lungs burned, gripping the metal of the batarang so tightly, it was slicing into her palm. After descending the stairs in the apartment, she lifted the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and sprinted outside, joining the throng of panicked mourners. She did not look back; she knew Bruce would not follow her.

_Bruce._ _Ha_, what were the odds? As Edith entered the parking garage, she couldn't help but remember what the Joker had said to her the day she told him about her and Bruce's date.

_It's a funny little world we live in; everything seems to fall into place amidst the chaos._

At the time, she thought it was simply because of the fundraiser, but now she wasn't so sure. Did he actually know who Batman was and he simply wanted to fuck with him? Make him sweat so he revealed himself in desperation? If the Joker knew, he had kept that information from her, and that possibility left her feeling betrayed and angry. She hated being lied to, and withholding information was not that far off. _But_, if he didn't know the Batman's identity, her hand in their little poker game just got a lot more promising.

He wanted to own her; he already claimed he did. Now, it was her turn.

She saw the van pulling out of a spot in the corner of the garage. As Spade drove towards the exit, the side door slid open, and Edith jumped inside. They were still dressed to the nines, five point hats off, no rifles. The Joker sat in the middle between Charlie and Lou, his scars weighed down by his heavy scowl, but his expression seemed to lighten when she sat across from him. He looked at her curiously, head tilted to the side, watching as she put something shiny and _sharp_ into the pocket of her sweatshirt.

"I swear, every time we see you, you got a new cut or bruise or some shit," Charlie said. "What happened this time?"

She could practically feel the Joker's eyes on her skin, crawling, searching, undressing. The blood had dried on her face in long drips; the cut was shallow, stretching from the hairline of her right temple down to the corner of her eye. She touched it gingerly, almost forgetting it was there, and replied with a shrug.

"Just some guy wanting to be a hero. I took care of it. You get Garcia?"

The lackeys' faces were like stone, and Axel, who sat beside her, elbowed her roughly. The van swerved onto the expressway, forcing their bodies to lean to the left.

With a smack of his lips and a roll of his eyes, the Joker answered with irritation.

"No Garcia. Got _Gordy_. Always the hero, that one."

Edith crossed her arms and gave the clown her most mischievous smile. "You still caused one hell of an uproar. I mean, rather one dead than none, right, _boss_?"

She ended her statement with a wink, legs crossing, and she watched with satisfaction as the corner of his scarred mouth turned upward in a smirk. As she had hoped, he rose to his feet. Too tall to stand up completely, his spine curved and he swayed against the movement of the van. He shoved Axel off the bench and plopped next to Edith. His arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her into his uniformed chest. His nose grazed her hair, his breath harsh as he inhaled through his nostrils.

"You always know what to say, pumpkin," he purred. "Remember my _promise_?"

Edith looked up to him impishly, and her tongue darted out to lick the dried blood that sat at the corner of her mouth. His eyes sparked, and she urged him on quietly, heat flooding her core. She wanted him to do it, wanted him to take her in front of everyone. She needed to put on a show, prove that she had as much power as he did, that she could twist him around her finger if he wasn't too careful.

"Yeah, boss, I remember."

Her voice was sultry and low, but it was no use. He had caught on, and as quick as the spark came, it was gone. With pursed lips, he removed his arm from her shoulder and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It was clear he was done, defeated for the moment, but Edith was not satisfied. It was not the victory she wanted, and she pouted at his profile, unwilling to give up.

"And here I thought you were a man of your word."

Her vision exploded, pain searing through her skull, and hit the floor of the van with a grunt. Dazed and dizzy, she stared at Charlie's polished boots. She heard the sound of his switchblade before he forced her onto her back and pressed his knee into her abdomen, pulling a raspy, breathless scream from her throat. The edge of his blade was soon pressed against her lips. She tasted blood, fresh and warm, his face nothing more than a blur as he towered over her. Despite the pain, and despite the danger, she felt her lower half grow hot once again. He had her trapped between his legs, which was a smart move on his part; if her legs were free she would have wrapped them around his waist and forced him to acknowledge her control.

She laughed, the action short-lived. With another blow to her face, everything went black.

* * *

><p>"She's fuckin' nuts," Axel whispered.<p>

He looked over his shoulder at the van as he and Charlie carried some equipment towards one of the hotel rooms. The other lackeys were ahead of them, eager to escape whatever wrath the Joker planned for Eddie, fearing he would turn it on them if they stayed. After knocking her out, the Joker had taken his original seat next to Lou, eyes closed and body still with lethal calmness. When they arrived back at the Mile, he ordered the van to the front of the hotel, eyes snapping open the moment the engine shut off. He barked at them to empty the van and leave.

Charlie glanced briefly over his shoulder, watching as the clown hopped into the van and closed the door.

"Nah," he replied in satisfaction. "She's fuckin' _dead_."

* * *

><p>She was becoming too much trouble, his little harlequin. Too enticing, too confident, too <em>distracting<em>. She was descending faster than he thought, and the happiness he felt in response was almost too much for his little heart to take.

"Ya must've had one hell of a life, hm?" he asked, as if her unconscious form would answer him. Perhaps a little more recon could strengthen his hand, but that would come later. For now, she lay motionless on van floor, face bruised slightly from the beating.

He stayed seated on the bench, watching her chest rise and fall as he removed one white glove and wiped his switchblade clean. He would stay until she woke, however long that took. But there was that meeting, at five, and he wanted her attendance. He gave her a sharp jab in the side with his shoe, and she groaned. _Good._ Another jab and she grimaced. _Better._

"Knock it off," she growled after he nudged her a third time. "My head is killing me."

"Serves you right, pumpkin. How _stupid_ do you think I am?"

Edith opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling blankly before lifting a hand to her face.

"I don't think your stupid." Her voice was muffled by her palm. "I'm just smarter than you anticipated."

The Joker chuckled. _True.. _"But you still thought I'd, uh, give you want you want."

It wasn't a question. Edith lowered her hand and glared up at him, blue eyes burning in irritation.

"It's what _you_ want. What happened to having a little _fun_? What happened to liking a little_ fight_?"

Slowly, she lifted herself up. She took a seat on the bench across from him, her legs spreading so that one heeled boot rested on either side of him, a position that was becoming all too familiar. Grabbing the sharp metal she had hidden away in her pocket, she removed her sweatshirt and tossed it to the floor. She peeled her shirt off as well, revealing blood, bruises, and breasts covered in black lace.

"You can hit me, threaten me, cut me all you want, but we both know that you love when I fight. What would you be if everyone just gave into you?" she declared with a smile. She fingered the metal in her hand gracefully. "You see this? This is _me_ having control."

He recognized the symbol she held, recognized the meaning behind her words. Anger and excitement swelled in his chest.

"You, ah, know who he is then, hm? The man behind the _mask_?"

"You sure are smart when you want to be."

The heels of her boots went to the floor, and she snaked forward, straddling him on the bench. The back of his head rested against the wall of the van, her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips working his lap slowly.

"And I'll never tell," she whispered against his mouth. "That is, unless you _don't_ want me to tell you, because then I _most certainly will_."

He ignored her threat and licked his scars, his tongue flicking her bottom lip. "Ha, _y'know_, Eddie baby, y'know _whyyy_ I like you?"

Taking hold of her hips, he shoved her off, and she hit the floor with an abrupt _oomph, _the back of her head nearly slamming into the edge of the bench_._ He spun her, slid on top of her, and settled himself between her legs, claiming his dominance once again. The batarang was gone from her hand and reappeared against her throat. The metal was cold, his skin was hot. Her lower half was pushed into the floor by his hips, his erection pressing the spot she wanted him most.

"I _liiike_ you because you're _just like me_," he crooned, his tongue against her ear. She felt the metal travel down her neck. "Impulsive, _chaotic_, and I've always had a soft spo**_t_** for a woman that can wield a knife."

Growling and irritated by the clothing that separated them, she lifted her hips in tune with his movements. His tongue and teeth played with the skin of her jaw until she forced him to look at her with a rough pull of his hair.

"You have thirty seconds to take off your pants before I tell you who he is."

The Joker merely laughed, the sound grating and high-pitched. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Do you think I'm bluffing?"

"_Yes._"

"You have ten seconds."

Laughter.

"Eight.. Seven.."

His smile faded.

"Six.. Five.. Four.."

His hand gripped her throat, preventing speech. She mouthed the numbers.

"Three.. Two.."

And the sound of her zipper was all the victory she needed. She lifted her hips when she felt him tear at her jeans, allowing him to strip the denim from her thighs after yanking her boots from her feet. She sat up, unzipping his slacks and fumbling with the buttons. After a moment of frantic fingers, he grew impatient and shoved her hands away. He unsnapped his belt, pushing the fabric from his hips. His erection sprang free, and one hand gripped her fiery hair. His voice was guttural, possessive.

"You want control, Eddie baby? _Take it_. Show me you can handle it."

He almost choked when he felt the wet heat of her mouth. With his fingers entwined in her hair, she dug her nails into the flesh of his thighs, sliding his length along her tongue until he hit the back of her throat. His pulse was rapid; she could feel it against her tongue. The control she had in that moment was making the ache between her legs unbearable, but she continued her attack with him kneeling in front of her, straddling her bare legs. She quickened her pace, his salty skin slick around her lips as she sucked and worked her tongue around him. She knew he was close when the hand in her hair began to push and pull, his lack of control catching up to him. But she denied him his release, pulling her mouth away and smiling like the devil.

He was quick to react, forcing her onto her back and tearing the black lace away from her core. Once exposed, he spread her legs so that her knees grazed the wood of the benches beside them and took the time to admire her perfect, beaten form. Before him was body of a woman as twisted as he was, and his erection throbbed painfully above her. She giggled with fake shyness, her hands pulling him down at his waist. He lowered himself onto her, wrapping her legs around his waist and positioning himself. When he entered her, he did do slowly, his face cradled in the crook of her neck as he filled her inch by inch. He withdrew with the same agonizing pace, and Edith moaned, bucking against him and begging for speed. Her spine arched beautifully, her hips matching the intensity of his movements as he gave in to her demands. Her fingernails gripped the back of his uniform jacket, a throbbing ache forming in her low back as each thrust pushed her body into the hard floor.

"Are you sure, you don't, want to know?" she gasped playfully, her sentence fragmented with each plunge of his length.

He growled in response, thrusting into her roughly and holding himself steady inside of her.

"I'll snap your neck before you can even say one syllable."

The sound that left her was between a moan and a laugh, her breath hitching when he continued. No more playing, no mercy, and she teetered on the edge, climaxing with such intensity, her body failed to produce noise. He caught her silent scream, his tongue filling the wet cavern of her mouth, and he continued his onslaught, ripping his lips from hers when he came. Unlike her, he was not silent, and he buried himself into her, panting and cackling his way through his release. When he collapsed on top of her, she heard his breathless voice utter something inaudible.

"Huh?" she replied, voice drunk with exhaustion.

The Joker pulled himself up, pressing his sweaty brow against hers. "I said, _never_ tell me."

"I won't."

She smiled, feeling his body relax into hers. "Cross my heart."

* * *

><p>All he would tell her was that it was a "business meeting" and that she <em>had<em> to go. She told him it sounded boring, he said it would be fun, and while she said she didn't want to go, he told her _too bad_ and gave her a couple cans of greasepaint. _Dress nice._

In her hotel bathroom, Edith went about applying her own mask after scrubbing the dried blood from her skin. The white hid the cuts and bruises, the perfect knuckle imprints from his royal majesty. Despite being gentle, the cut on her temple reopened, blood congealing against the paint. Lips smeared black, she mimicked the Joker's previous work, and hid the fresh slice he had given her mouth. She chose to make her eyes messy, mixing the paint with a small amount of water so it ran down her cheeks. When she was satisfied with her look, she redressed her abdominal wound and put on her now torn, blood covered harlequin attire.

She requested a new outfit, which the Joker denied. _Gives you character. _

On her way to the car, she caught Charlie and Spade smoking outside the hotel room.

"Sad to see you're in one piece," Charlie growled as she walked by. "What's it like fuckin' a clown?"

"It's a barrel of laughs," she called out, throwing them a smile from over her shoulder.

Spade kept his mouth shut, pulling hard on his cigarette. The Joker soon emerged from his room in his infamous, purple attire and stalked off in the direction Edith had gone.

"You gotta watch it, Charlie," he said, his eyes following the boss as he disappeared around the corner.

"She should be dead. If we pulled _half_ the shit she did.."

"Well, grow a pair of tits and become bat-shit crazy, then maybe you'll probably have a shot at being teacher's pet, but until then, I'd keep quiet."

Charlie angrily stomped his cigarette out with his foot, grinding it into the cement as the gray sedan sped past the hotel.

* * *

><p>Edith was not surprised that they knew. In fact, she had hoped they would. Though she didn't outwardly show her excitement, she had been thrilled when exiting the van. With it being parked in front of the hotel and shaking as much as it was, she figured the goons could put two and two together if they weren't complete idiots. At this thought, she looked over at the Joker as he drove the car down the darkening city streets, his painted eyes scanning the neon signs of the dirty bars and strip clubs. Both frequent watering holes for Gotham's scum elite. He abruptly stopped outside the Trinity, one of the more up-scale clubs in the Narrows, and reversed the car before swerving into the alley alongside the building.<p>

Hands in his pockets, he motioned for her to follow him down the alley towards the corner service door. He pounded heavily on the metal, and the small latch opened, two beady eyes looking out.

"Yeah? Who ya here to see?"

"_Maaaroni_."

The door immediately opened, and the smell of cheap booze was overwhelming. Edith followed the Joker into the shadows, the deep rumbling of club music vibrating up through her feet. They entered the main portion of the club, which had four balcony levels overlooking the main dance floor. The room flashed frantically with colored strobe lights, and she suddenly recognized the place, having only been in this section a handful of times. It was one of the many businesses Maroni used to launder his money.

"You could have told me we were seeing Maroni," she growled, following the him up the stairs to the third balcony.

The Joker either chose to ignore her or didn't hear her, because he kept walking, stopping only to scan the tables around them. Maroni sat across the balcony, in the company of a dolled-up blonde, his expression one of boredom. One of his goons, Hector, if Edith remembered his name correctly, leaned down to whisper something in his boss' ear. Maroni's attention was soon on them, and he stood immediately, smoothing down his suit jacket. He pointed to a spot where the two balconies joined, and they met in the middle. The crowd parted around them like the Red Sea.

"Good to see you, Alfredo!" the Joker greeted loudly over the music. He cocked his head back to Edith. "You remember, Eddie, yeah?"

Edith put on a sweet smile and waved. "Long time, no see."

Maroni's eyes narrowed, his expression one of disgust. "What do you want?"

The Joker cupped one ear and shrugged, and the mob boss rolled his eyes. He turned, motioning for them to follow, and led them to a private, unused VIP room in the corner. Two of his lackeys followed, entering with them and standing on either side of the closed door like statues. The Joker plopped down on one of the red sofas, arms stretching across the back and legs extending out to rest on the glass table in front of him. One gloved hand waved to an empty chair, and Maroni sat down hesitantly, his eyes following Edith as she slowly walked around the room.

"_Now_, we have a problem, Spaghetti." The clown raised a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat. "You see, I can't get our money if I can't get to Lau. With all the _ruckus _I'm causing, _everyone_ seems to be upping their se_cur_ity. Black Gate, MCU, even Arkham. I'm sure you still have rats in the GCPD. Get me the information I need by tomorrow afternoon."

"You couldn't have called with this? And I won't have rats if you keep killing them off," Maroni replied evenly.

"Ah, well, one, I'm old-fashioned. Why call when you can see my pretty face? Two, I'm not quite _ready_ to give up on the fun that killing your rats bring. Gotta work fast to beat me," the Joker said with a yellowed smile. He glanced over to Edith, who had taken a seat on the arm of the sofa. "My, uh, _better half,_ over here? She's _aaall_ about the money, and she gets that from your side, not mine."

The Italian scoffed. Leaning back in his chair, he met Edith's gaze and his head shook in disapproval.

"I don't know who you are anymore, little puppet, but I know you've gone too far with this one. You're in over your head, once again."

"You've never known me," she replied. Her painted face lacked all emotion. "And I'm not your little puppet anymore."

"Sorry, you're right. You're not a little puppet. You're just a whore like your mother."

She snapped and her vision burned red. Edith lunged forward, her hands outstretched and ready to wring the Italian's neck. So close she could see the whites of his eyes, but a strong arm stopped her at her waist. She snarled, kicked, and fought against the Joker's strength, throwing strings of profanity and threats in Maroni's direction. She threw a hard elbow into the clown's stomach, but he kept her against his chest, her legs and arms flying. He was laughing hysterically as he hoisted her and backed up towards the door. Maroni sat motionless, his eyes wide with shock.

"Now, _this_! _This_ she gets from me!" he shouted excitedly. "Tomorrow afternoon, no _ex-cep-tions_!"

The door closed, and Maroni exhaled slowly.

_Damn._


	17. Enigma

It's been a short while since I've updated. Unfortunately, I cannot guarantee quick updates now that the holidays are over. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and shown support. It means a lot to know that you are enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it.

This chapter is shorter, but I hope you enjoy it! R&R always appreciated.

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><p>After pulling her out of the VIP room kicking and screaming, the Joker successfully got Edith out of the club without anyone calling the cops. She had calmed down by the time they reached the alley, but her chest was heaving, her hands trembling. She yanked herself from his grip with so much force, she tripped and slammed her shoulder against the wall. She glared at him as he approached, hating the sound of his breathy amusement.<p>

"What's got you so riled up, huh?" he asked. He took one of her elbows in his gloved hand and guided her to stand. He rubbed her shoulders tenderly only to have her push him away. Her voice was so harsh, he barely heard her.

"I want him dead."

"Who, doll face, _Maroni_? Don't tell me the meatball actually got to you. I took you to have, ah, tougher _skin_ than tha_t_."

"I want him _dead_," Edith repeated, each word ending with a sharpened tongue.

The Joker's smile deepened. "All in good t_iii_me; gotta learn to have a little patience."

He cocked his head to the side, motioning towards the car, and she begrudgingly followed him. It had been years since the Italian had gotten her to react like that, and part of her blamed the clown for peeling away her layers. He was worse than any heroine: his pleasure more addictive, his pain more enjoyable. She loved the way he made her feel, the way he subtly shared his power. When she had been angry and lethal, he let her taste him, knowing full well she could maim, cut, bite, and kill. Now, as he drove them down the dirty streets, he held her hand in a bruising grip on top of the center console, as if he feared she would slip into another fit of rage. His hand kept her glued together, and when the car pulled alongside the hotel, she squeezed his fingers. He looked at her, a cautious and curious glint in his eye.

"My mother was a prostitute."

"Figured as mu_ch_."

He pulled his hand from hers and turned to her, his arm now draped over the top of his seat. In the dark, his smile was bright and menacing. She had given him a taste, and now he was wanting more. An outstretched hand patted her fiery mane like a lover.

"What happened to her, hm? You know, Eddie baby, you can tell me _any_thing."

Edith moved her head away from him and out of his reach. Her expression was neutral and lacking of emotion.

"She died. Her pimp killed her while I hid in the bathroom. She died protecting me."

He was quiet for a moment, but his eyes brightened with excitement.

"Now, _that_ is a very sad story, _but_ its enough for now. I like, hm, _learning_ about you on my own time. And we gotta keep _some_ mystery in our relationship, right?" he added with a short laugh. "_C'mon_."

He moved out of the car, but did not wait for her. She followed his retreating form into his hotel room, eyes glued to his back. Inside, he slipped off his trench coat and threw it over the chair by the TV. Edith sat on the bed and rubbed her face; the dried greasepaint clung painfully to her skin. The bed shifted with the Joker's weight as he propped himself up against the headboard. The volume of the eight o'clock news was turned up, and Edith looked over her shoulder at him, envious of his ability to relax with the snap of a finger.

Without a word, and without thinking of the possible repercussions, she turned and crawled up the mattress to him like a cat, her movements slow with exhaustion. He cocked one eyebrow at her as she slipped beside him, and she shifted his arm so that it wrapped around her. She lay on her side, her arm draped across his stomach and her face pressed against his vest; green fabric powdered white with dried paint. She expected him to shove her off and laugh, but was pleasantly surprised when the weight of his muscle settled into her shoulder.

His wonderfully masculine scent lulled her to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Damn it.<em>

He really couldn't catch a break. First the clown, now the bat.

Maroni watched as his men were pummeled to a pulp, tossed over the balcony railing, and the Batman soon towered over him. The vigilante grabbed him by the collar of his suit and pulled him out of his seat, dragging him across the building and out onto the fire escape. The mob boss dangled over the edge, held in place by the Batman's strong grip, and his face was now more smug than scared.

"I want the Joker."

"From one professional to another, if you're tryin' to scare somebody? Pick a better spot. A fall from this height won't kill me," Maroni scoffed.

The anchor holding him in place gave way, and mob boss fell to the alley below with a scream. His legs crunched beneath his weight, and before he could register the pain, the Batman was in his face, his guttural voice bouncing off brick walls.

"WHERE IS HE?"

"I don't know where he is," the mob boss sputtered, face contorted in pain. "He found us."

"He must have friends."

"_Friends_? Have you met this guy?"

The bat's eyes narrowed. "What about Edith Green?"

Maroni's eyes glazed over. "No one's gonna tell you nothin'. We're wise to your act. You got rules. The Joker? He has no rules. No one's gonna cross him for you. You want the clown, you only got one way to get to him."

The Batman pressed one knee into the Italian's injured leg, forcing a yelp of pain from his throat. "Then tell me about Edith Green. You've been in contact with her before. Long before the Joker."

"She's, nothing," Maroni wheezed. "She's a street rat. Used her for a couple of hits. Offered her a job to kill you, but she obviously felt that being a circus slut paid better."

"Where is she?"

"_Nice try_. You want the Joker, just take off that mask and let him come to you. Or maybe you'll just let a couple of people get killed while you make up your mind."

Another scream cracked through the air as the Batman laid all of his weight into Maroni's leg. He gripped the mob boss' throat, squeezing the air from his lungs.

"I won't break my rule," he growled, "but I can get close. Give me something about Edith Green that I can use."

He lessened the pressure so Maroni could speak.

"There's a house in Woodbourne off Michigan Road, 1078," he coughed. "She moved after she almost died of a heroine overdose, during all the Scarecrow shit." He steadied his voice before continuing. "She's a street rat, but she's dangerous. I should know, I made sure of it. Lucky for you, she's also as nuts as he is."

* * *

><p>A harsh ringing tore her from blissful sleep. Her cheek was wet, and upon opening her eyes, she realized she had drooled onto the Joker's green vest. He was sleeping through the obnoxious music, but he woke almost instantly when he felt her weight shift. He glared at her as she stretched her body across him, hand reaching for the cellphone on the nightstand. With a growl, he pushed her off and sat up, feet resting on the floor as he put the phone to his ear.<p>

"Yeah?"

She could only hear muted mumbles on the other end.

"I don't care about tha_t_... _Okaaay_... _Nononono_, _**not** _what I want... Find what I, ah, _asked_ for by tonight, and if it's not here by, let's say, _five_, I'll put a bullet between your eyes. I'm sure th_a_t will be less disappoin_ting_."

He ended the call and dropped the phone to the floor before running both hands through his green tresses. The TV was still on, and the paid programming had a time that read 5:35 AM. The Joker stood and cracked his back, the sound both sickening and satisfying.

"How _hard_ is it, really, to find a bazooka in Gotham?"

Edith yawned. "Why do you need a bazooka?"

"Why _wou__ldn't_ I need a bazooka?" the Joker countered. He spun on his heels and smirked down at her. "_Waiting_ is the hardest part, pumpkin. Can't do too much; we don't want to scare the poor bat, but I want to make sure all my toys are ready for show n' tell."

"He'll show. One way or another, he'll give in."

"_Oh_? And what makes you so sure?" His gray-rimmed eyes narrowed. "Had some pillow talk, have we?"

He could be so easy to read; Edith wondered why everyone was so confused by him. He was an open book, rarely spoke in riddles, and his objectives were clear. He played emotions like an actor played a role, and he could win an Oscar if he really wanted to, but some of his reactions were raw, real, and sent a shiver down her spine. Grabbing her ankle, he yanked her to the edge of the bed and settled himself between her legs. Edith sat up, her spine arching so that her chest pressed against his, their noses nearly touching.

"So jealous," she whispered with a flicker of a smile. She looked up at him, blue eyes burning. "Would it make you feel better know I prefer _our_ pillow talk?"

Her fingers danced across his belt and her tongue licked his bottom lip, but he stood and moved away from her, one chiding finger wagging.

"Will make time for that later," he said. He turned his attention now to his duffel bag on the floor, and he rummaged through it and pulled out a handful of crinkled newspaper articles.

Sitting at the small, round table, he spread the articles out and studied them, shooing her with a wave of his hand.

"Be a dear and wake the children, pumpkin. We have bats to chase, and smiles to give!"

* * *

><p>It wasn't what he was expecting, but then, nothing could really surprise him. Not anymore.<p>

In the blackness of night, the Batman stood in the entry way of the run-down country house, eyes shooting from room to room. The furniture was old, used, and well-worn. The pictures on the walls were of happy, smiling people; not the usual property of a "street rat" and Edith was in none of them.

Dust littered every surface, dishes were piled in the sink. Bruce moved down the hall, studying each room before moving on to the next. He passed two bedrooms before reaching a staircase, and upstairs, he found an office and a master bedroom. At first glance, there was little of importance. The house was a shell, a facade of a life she either wanted, or knew she could never have. He moved into the office and studied the various papers that littered the desk. It was mostly junk mail, but one letter caught his eye. The paper was not yellowed, and the ink was not faded like the rest. It was addressed to Green. It read:

_Edith,_

_Everything should be in order. The house is still in my name, but it's yours. I'll make the payments with the money you gave me. No one should bother you. Take care of yourself out here. The road is longer than twelve steps._

_Your sponsor & friend,_

_Sadie_

Beneath the letter sat a gold coin, a 10 month sobriety chip. Bruce picked it up, studying the wording and wondering just how complex the woman actually was. Reading that letter and seeing the evidence of her sobriety left him conflicted; there were too many possible truths. She was an enigma, her secrets rivaling that of her male counterpart, but his trip was not a complete waste.

Taking the chip and the letter, the Batman left Woodbourne before the light of dawn graced the sky.


	18. Masterpiece

Typical disclaimer: I own nothing by my OC. Reviews are wonderful, as are favorites and follows. Thank you to everyone who has shown support! This has been a difficult story to write at times; I have different avenues in my head and it's hard to figure out which one will make the best story/flush the characters out the best. Also, I realize DNA results can take a while in real life; just be a peach and pretend otherwise! Enjoy!

**Warning: chapter rated M for a reason. Violence and sex.. At the same time.**

* * *

><p>They laid low for most of the day. After being woken up, the lackeys separated and left to finish whatever task the boss must have given them. Edith didn't ask, she didn't really care. She returned to the Joker's hotel room and fell back asleep for an hour while he scribbled furiously at the table in the corner. It was the annoying ringing of one of his cellphones that woke her; he had various disposable cells, some working, others crushed on the floor or missing their batteries. Edith kept her eyes closed, lying on her stomach with her hands beneath her pillow. She craved sleep, tasted it on her tongue, but his voice broke through the grogginess.<p>

"_Yeeeees_?"

A brief pause, followed by: "Well, MC_U_ changes _everything_! Ciao, linguine!"

Edith's laughter came out as a snort; she loved those derogatory pet names for Maroni. She giggled into the pillow, burying her face in the musky fabric as she turned to her side, and she slowly began to slip into sleep once more.

"Were you dreaming of me, _dear_?"

His voice was closer; she felt his breath against her ear. Opening her eyes, she found him sprawled on his side next to her, his head propped up with one hand while he fingered the hem of her harlequin pants. They sat low on her hips, and he traced the bones with a feather-like touch. The warmth soothed her and her eyes fluttered closed. After a few minutes, her soft snores filled the room, and he studied her relaxed form.

He had a thing for scars - it was one of the first few physical traits he noticed about others. His harlequin had a few, small bits of jagged skin here and there; nothing impressive and nothing he cared to learn more about. _These_, on the other hand, were different, easy to miss because they were as pale as the rest of her; he assumed she had acquired them as a child. The darkness of the room revealed the wrinkled slices, and the Joker's hand dipped to her low abdomen to feel the clean edges, the work of a knife. He made a mental note to find out who graced her with such violent beauty.

Her hand was soon gripping his wrist, stopping his soft caresses.

"What are you doing?"

Stern, protective, even secretive, was the tone of her voice.

"Just showing my, _love_, pumpkin. _Theeese_ are _beautiful_."

Edith followed his heated gaze to her abdomen, where his hand remained glued to her skin. She knew he was referring to her scars, the ones she would always try to forget. Embarrassed and ashamed, she tried to get up, but his hand was now gripping her hip. He leaned close, his nose grazing her temple. His voice was a purr.

"Let me see them."

She ignored the heat that swelled in her belly.

"Why? So you can mock me? Why can't you just let me sleep?"

"_You_ are in _my_ bed. And moc_k_ you? _Nononono_, **no**, Eddie baby. Now let me see them. I won't ask again."

She let out an exasperated sigh and turned so that she lay on her back, grumbling under her breath about how he hadn't asked in the first place. The Joker gave an approving growl at her submission and moved to straddle her knees. He peeled the fabric from her hips for better viewing, and the position was slightly awkward; he was hovering over her navel, observing her skin like a hawk would a field. His fingers were hot against her skin, and she knew her face was turning red. All she wanted to do in that moment was knee him in the groin.

He counted six scars aloud, recognizing that they were all the same length and had neat little edges. They littered the space between her hip bones, just below her belly button, and he traced an imaginary line that connected them all. Edith watched him warily, preparing for his verbal assault, his maniacal laughter, but neither came. She gasped as he lowered his head and kissed one scar, his tongue massaging the puckered skin. Heat fluttered her core, and her fingers were soon in his hair, clutching the acid green tresses. He bit into her, pulling a moan past her faded, black lips. Much to her disappointment, he removed his tongue, a chuckle dancing in his mouth.

Slipping from on top of her, he returned to the table without a word and resumed his scribbles as if nothing had transpired. Edith caught her breath and stared at his hunched over form.

"Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Can't a, ah, _guy_ just admire his _girl_?" he replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the papers in front of him.

Edith grinned and shook her head as she moved from the bed. He responded to her close proximity by hunching over the table further, his arm curled around his papers as if he were afraid she would cheat off his work. He did not stop her hand as it slid across his neck, and he showed little, if any, resistance when she gripped his throat and pushed him to sit straight. He smiled in that special way of his, his scarred mouth painted in amusement and pride. He licked his lips as she settled into his lap, his bare hands running up her leather-covered thighs.

"So, what's our next act, boss?"

The Joker shrugged. "Don't know yet."

"You have our children running around, doing your bidding, and you don't even know what for?"

"...Yeah."

She chuckled. "What are they all getting for you this time?"

"Mmmm, two are keeping tabs on Dent, two are getting a very special means of _trans-por-tation_, and the other three are doing whatever I told them to do. Can't, ah, _remember_."

"And what am I, chopped liver?"

"_Ha_, oh, I would _love_ for you to be cho_pp_ed," the Joker said, his pitch raising with excitement. "Chopped into _liiittle_ pieces, but I have a job for you, sweetheart, don't worry."

He gripped her cheeks with one hand, squeezing and enjoying the furious, lustful glint in her eye.

"A Very. Important. Jo_b_-_ah_."

* * *

><p>He watched as the glass case descended into the ground, the bat suit disappearing when the floor closed above it. The warehouse was empty and eerily quiet. He had made his decision. He couldn't play the game any longer, not when so many innocent lives were at stake. He looked over his shoulder at Alfred, who was tossing pages into the incinerator. Bruce knew that once he turned himself in, every inch of his property would be searched and everything he owned would be taken from him. He wouldn't bring Rachel and Lucius down with him.<p>

"This too, sir?" Alfred called out.

"Everything. Anything that can lead back to Rachel and Lucius."

His old friend tossed the pages into the fire and looked to him with sad eyes.

"People are _dying_, Alfred," Bruce sighed. "What would you have me do?"

The reply was simple. "Endure, Master Wayne. They will hate you for it, but that is the point of the Batman. He can be the outcast. He can make the choice no one else can make. The _right_ choice."

"The Batman can't make this choice. He can't endure this. Today you get to say I told you so."

"Today, I don't want to," Alfred replied quietly. He held a manila envelope in his hand. "These are the fingerprints and DNA results from the hair Ms. Green left in the apartment. Lucius made sure they were rushed discreetly through Wayne Biotech."

"Any hits on either of them?"

"None for fingerprints. One for DNA; quite interesting."

Intrigued, Bruce opened the envelope and leafed through the pages, studying the DNA results. There were no direct matches, but a partial had come through based off "mitochondrial" analysis. Based off his knowledge of biology, Bruce knew this meant Green's mother, aunt, or sister was in the criminal database. He eagerly flipped the page, studying the criminal record of a woman named Edith McRoy. Had he not known the context of the picture, he would have thought it was Green herself; same bone structure, same eyes, but this Edith's hair was a dark brown that clung limply to her cheeks. She had been arrested multiple times over the course of ten years - prostitution, loitering, failure to appear in court, assault on a police officer. Her last arrest was nearly twenty-eight years ago, which made sense when he flipped to the next page and saw her date and cause of death.

Alfred watched as he stuffed the papers back in the envelope.

"What will you do with them, Master Wayne?" he asked.

They walked down to the elevator platform together, and Bruce stared at the envelope in his hands.

"This is going straight to the GCPD," he replied firmly. "There's nothing left for Batman to do."

* * *

><p>He called it a job at first, but then he decided it was more of an opportunity.<p>

_Paint Gotham_, he said. _Be an agent of chaos._

The Joker wanted nothing more than to turn people against one another, to make them recognize that they're all _one bad day away_ from being just like him. If given the chance, they would eat each other alive just to save their own skin, and this was the difficult truth he wanted to force down their throats. He left his instructions open-ended, granting her room to be as _artistic_ as she wanted to be, but he would be the one to carry out the plan she came up with. He explained this while she straddled his lap, hands running up and down her curves, petting her like a cat. With each drawn out word and flicker of his tongue, she felt her core moisten, and when he had finally finished explaining her opportunity, she kissed him.

His tongue moistened the dry paint of her lips, and Edith pulled away so he could watch her as she unzipped her top. Her breasts fell free, and her healing wound was red and pretty. She put two fingers against his scarred mouth before he could move his hands.

"Ah, ah, _no_. No touching," she commanded. "You touch, I leave."

She was surprised he listened, his hands now clasped behind his back around the chair. He tilted his head to the side, watching curiously as she slipped her top from her shoulders and brought one hand to his pocket. She pulled out his switchblade, her fingers grazing his erection in the process. She stood and stripped her pants from her legs, stepping out of them with grace. She pointed the blade at him.

"Follow my lead, boss."

The clown snickered, rising to his feet and unbuckling his belt. His eyes never left hers, and she leaned her naked body against the table behind her, watching as his purple slacks and patterned boxers fell to the floor. He removed his tie and unbuttoned his vest. When his shirt was unbuttoned, Edith guided him to sit. She straddled his lap carefully, his erection pressed against her abdomen, deliciously close to where she wanted him to be. His hands resumed their position behind the chair, and he closed his eyes when she ran one hand up his lean chest. A shudder erupted from his body as she dragged the cold metal along one scar. Without warning, she withdrew the blade and swiped the sharpened edge against his sternum, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. He groaned and the muscles of his shoulders tightened.

"_Again_."

"Well, look at this," Edith chuckled. "The Clown Prince of Crime is _begging_."

His eyes snapped open, black pits filled with so much intensity, she thought she would climax right then.

"_Again_. C'mon, do it. _I want you to do it_."

She ran the blade against his chest once more, slowly this time, marking his skin with a lopsided _X_. It was deeper than the first, crimson liquid staining the flaps of his shirt. His lips pursed and a growl vibrated in his throat. He twitched between her legs, and with her own loins aching, Edith moved her hips so she could lower herself onto him. She flicked the blade against his collarbone, and his hips rose to meet her. As his length sunk into her heat, something sparked, and all control was suddenly his.

Ripping the blade from her hand, he lifted her and spun her as if she weighed nothing. He bent her over the table, and her hands spread out before her for support and to prevent her stitches from reopening. Papers and documents crinkled beneath her grip; diagrams, building blueprints, handwritten instructions for bombs - she studied them all with hooded eyes as he pummeled into her. She was sure the flimsy table would break with the force.

When she felt his blade carve her shoulder, she snarled like an animal, her red hair thrown to one side as she looked back at him. He met her hungry gaze and immediately grabbed her by her hair, pulling her up so her back was against his chest. She felt the stickiness of his warm blood against her spine. He continued to thrust, the new position making her legs weak and her belly numb.

"I'll touch when I want to touch," he seethed against her ear.

She laughed, her hand reaching behind her to cup the back of his head. She arched her back against his thrusts, and his free hand was pawing at her breasts. His teeth were nipping at her neck.

"You want me," she panted, feeling the pleasure build. She came with a muffled scream, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip while she rode the waves to completion. His pounding thrusts continued, his breath quick and hot in her ear. Her voice was nothing but breathy gasps. "You hate that you want me, but you'll fuck me anyways. That's _my_ masterpiece, _darling_."

He came with her words, his moans hitching into whines as he pulsed and released himsef inside of her. He freed her from his grip, and she rested her hands on the table, savoring each jerk of his hips until he pulled himself away. She turned to face him as he sunk back into the chair, feeling his warm fluid run down her thigh. His face was drenched in sweat and his shirt was covered in blood. He looked up to her and smirked, his brown eyes glazed over.

"_You_. You are, _truly_, one of a kind," he panted slowly. Edith watched him compose himself, feeling triumphant.

After he caught his breath, he folded his arms and chuckled.

"Eddie, baby, I think I'll keep you."


	19. Mark it With J

I was able to find some time to get an update in fairly quick. Please continue to let me know what you all think with reviews, favs and follows. Again, I'm humbled by all of the support shown and hope you continue to enjoy the story. A little more history is revealed in this chapter, and a little farther down the rabbit hole we go. May seem slow, but its all for set up. There is dialogue from the movie, so typical disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC.

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><p>The bastard had branded her, as if she was nothing more than a fucking cow in a cattle show. She had showered in her room, scrubbing away the dried blood and semen from her skin. She hadn't noticed the precision of the blade while he screwed her, but now, in front of the mirror, it was blurring into focus. A sloping J, jagged and crude, graced her shoulder, and she fumed at the sight of it. The next time the prick begged her to cut him, she'd carve an E into his forehead.<p>

She dressed in a pair of jeans and a long sleeved black shirt, her wet hair coiling down her back in clumped strands. Every inch of her ached, the hot water having stung her multitude of slices and scrapes. At the very least, her stitches had held. She sat on the edge of her bed and slipped on her boots, hearing voices emerge from outside. She recognized them as belonging to Vinny and Axel, and she found them across the balcony near the stairs, whispering something about Dent.

"What's Harvey up to?"

Vinny frowned at her, but Axel he piped up immediately, holding his injured arm away from her.

"He's holdin' a press conference tomorrow afternoon about all the dead cops. And Batman."

"You don't gotta answer to her, Ax," Vinny growled. "Just cause she's fuckin' the boss doesn't mean we gotta roll over like damned dogs whenever she's around."

Edith leaned in close. Her pink, bruised lips curled upward. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're jealous. Wanna know how many times I've had him?"

"You best watch your mouth. If he hears you talkin' like that, he'll make you regret it.. _Y'know_, on second thought," Vinny sneered, "_keep talkin'_. Let him hear you and he'll knock you down a peg or two."

Her laughter was eerily similar to the clown's, and the sound of it made the goons' faces fall. When she quieted, she smiled and moved past them, gracefully descending the stairs. Pissing them off was becoming a little too much fun.

She ambled down the cracked asphalt of the Mile, shoulders hunched against the breeze as she headed towards the maze and thought of her opportunity. She knew why it he had offered it to her. He wanted to see just how depraved she had become and how motivated she was to help the cause, but his cause was not her own; at least, that's what she kept telling herself.

She pushed past the familiar branches of the maze, and settled into her favorite corner, walled off from the morning wind by the dead hedge. Tucking her legs into her chest, she rested her arms on her knees, and the familiar position sent a cold shiver down her spine. Memories of her childhood clung to her like poison. _These are beautiful._ Her hand instinctively went to her low abdomen, rubbing her old scars through her clothes. She could remember the feel of the knife, the look on his face as he cut her, and the powerlessness she felt as the back alley doctor stitched her up. Edith thought she had died the night her mother was taken, but she had been wrong; she died the night Ricky found her.

After that cop put her in his police cruiser, young Edith had fled. She had always been taught to run from police, and the flashing red and blue lights had snapped her out of her shock. She couldn't remember for long or how far, but she ran as fast as her tiny legs could take her, and Ricky found her two nights later. Any innocence she had wilted the moment he forced the heroine into her veins. _Your mom had debts, girl. She ain't here to repay them, but you are._

She thought herself broken and in need of fixing; heroine had become her only escape.

_These are beautiful_.

Those words should have disgusted her, but it filled her with a warmth she hadn't anticipated. Despite their constant battle for control, he accepted her; he saw her scars as something to be celebrated and adored. _Don't pretend to be like them. You'll never be one them_. Yet, that's all she had been trying to do for the past year, live a normal life for once. But the Joker was winning. The more she pushed, the more he pulled, and little by little, her half of the money was being pushed into the back of her mind. While a part of her struggled against the involuntary spiral, another part welcomed the fall, her new escape. If she played the part of the harlequin, and played it well, she could be out of Gotham for good, but she was beginning to doubt whether she wanted that anymore.

Her thoughts continued for a long while, fading in and out between her past life and what she wanted for her future. She eventually nodded off, her head resting in the crook of her arm, and she only woke when she heard the deep rumble of a semi truck. It was loud, quickly approaching, and Edith hurried to stand and reach the edge of the maze. She caught sight of the side of the trailer as it thundered down the road.

_Laughter is the best medicine._

And what do you know, it was. She laughed and called out to the goon in the driver's seat.

"Hey! Wait up!"

The truck screeched to a slow halt, brakes screaming in resistance, and Edith jogged over to the cab. Hulling herself up to the passenger side door, she was greeted by Spade and the lackey she barely knew. Carl was quiet, kept to himself, and did what he was told. In other words, he was smart. Edith slipped past him and settled herself in between the two seats.

"You both have been busy, it looks like," she quipped.

"You look like you just woke up," replied Spade, his foot back on the accelerator.

"That's because I did. Fell asleep in the maze."

"Rough night, huh? The boss stick it to you?"

Spade nearly choked on his own spit. "_Jesus_, Carl, don't ya have any class?"

"_Please_ tell me all of those questions are rhetorical," Edith interjected.

Carl laughed, taking a swig from the beer bottle he kept at his feet.

"Use whatever ya got to stay ahead of the game," he said. "Ain't nothin' wrong with it."

When they pulled into the parking lot across from the hotel, the other three lackeys had returned. The Joker emerged from his room, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his purple trench coat as he approached. The sweat that had gathered on his brow earlier that morning had dried, causing the white greasepaint to clump above his eyebrows. Streaks of tan skin grazed his temple, revealing where the droplets had run down to his chin. He stood a couple feet from the trailer, studying the writing and art with scrutinizing eyes, his scars rippling as he gnawed the inside of his cheek. All of the goons had crowded around him, including Edith, and the only sound was the clicking of the clown's tongue.

"Something isn't, _right_," he determined aloud to himself. "Something's, _missing_."

"This is the one you wanted, right? Not too many Hyams trucks left 'round here."

The Joker glared at Carl from the corner of his eye.

"Speak when spoken to, _Lou_."

"It's, uh, Carl, boss."

You could hear a pin drop. No one breathed, and all eyes were on the clown as he turned on his heels. Each goon seemed to shrink back from their comrade, except Edith, who remained with her back against the trailer, arms folded across her chest. Despite the look of regret on his face, Carl's feet were planted underneath him, and surprisingly, his skin wasn't paling in fear.

"_What _was that?"

Not rhetorical. Carl's Adam's apple bobbed as the words formed in his throat.

"Carl. My name is Carl. Lou's behin -"

A sharp slap in the face cut off his sentence, and the Joker forced his eyes back to him by gripping Carl's cheeks painfully in one hand. His other hand was in the pocket of his trench coat, which usually meant death by switchblade. At this realization, the color began to drain from Carl's face.

"I don't care what your name _is_," the Joker growled. "And that's the whole poin**_t_**, _Carl. _I don't care if you live, if you die, and I certainly don't care what you have to say. Your, _name_, is whatever I _say_ it is. _Now_, do you have anything else you'd like to get off your, ah, _chest_?

Carl shook his head furiously, exhaling when the glove-hand released his face, but his relief was short-lived. The Joker swung his blade-tipped oxford up into the lackey's abdomen, and Carl crumpled to the asphalt with a cry of shock and pain. The other goons watched the assault through squinted eyes, faces contorting in disgust as he kicked Carl repeatedly. Edith, on the other hand, was smirking. She couldn't help it; the spark in his eye right then was the same one he got before he would pounce on her, the same maniacal fire that sent heat to her belly.

Laughing and whooping with anger and joy, the Joker sunk the blade into Carl until his gurgled, bloody screaming ceased. By the end, the body was littered with stab wounds, and the face, which had taken most of the beating, was nearly unrecognizable and haloed by a pool of red. Chest heaving, the clown bent down and saturated his glove in the lackey's blood. He then turned his attention back to the truck trailer. Edith and the others followed his movements with their eyes, watching as he stood on his tiptoes and painted a messy, sticky _S_ onto the metal.

"That's much better," he said. His smile was wide and happy: "_Boys_, when you're feeling _down_, or if you ever have the _uuurge_ to talk out of turn, just remember: _slaughter_ is the best medicine."

* * *

><p>He ordered them to clean up and get rid of the body, and the men did so without question. Edith remained where she was, watching as the he moved back to the hotel. Wuertz had pulled up during the assault and was now leaning against the passenger side door of his car. He handed the Joker an envelope, and the contents, whatever they were, had his full attention. After nearly ten minutes of reading, he waved Wuertz away and looked over to the trailer where she was standing, his eyes demanding her presence. She sauntered over, one eyebrow raised as she moved through the exhaust fumes of Wuertz's retreating vehicle.<p>

"Good ol' GCPD has the scoop on _you_, pumpkin," he said, unrolling the papers in his hands to look through it once more.

"Care to be more specific, boss?"

The Joker coughed into his fist, as if preparing to give a grandiose speech, before reading a section of the text in his hand.

"_On April 16, 1994, I and officer McDaniels were dispatched to the Mayberry Motel at approximately 5:45 AM after receiving reports of shots fired. We arrived at the hotel... _Yaddayaddayadda_... greeted by the hotel manager... Learned the shots had been fired four hours earlier, and that he found the body of a woman in room 108. He stated the woman was a "frequent flyer" and "worked the streets nearby"... We found a deceased woman in room 108... observed what looked to be a gunshot would to her forehead_.. Shall I continue?"

There was little expression in her face. She stared at him blankly, the muscles in her neck tight as she nodded her head. The Joker smiled and continued.

"_CSU arrived on the scene at approximately 6:15 AM, and it was during this time that I broke the bathroom door down. I discovered an unarmed girl hiding in the bathtub. I immediately introduced myself, and when asked her name, th__e girl stated that her mother only called her 'baby girl.' I escorted her out of the hotel room... _Blah blah blah... _Left her alone for approximately five minutes to meet with the coroner, and when I returned, the girl was no longer in my cruiser_. You see, the part _I'm_ interested in, pumpkin, is what happened after you ran from Gordy."

Her eyes lit up and her pupils dilated at the name. "Gordon?" She had never realized. She could barely remember the young officer's face.

"Mhm, I told you he was always trying to be the hero. But now I see where you got your, ah, _alias._ Like mother, like daughter. Tell me, _baby girl,_ how did it feel when you stabbed Ricky dead? I have the papers on _hiiis_ murder too. Never found the killer. You were what, _nine_ years old?"

Edith shrugged. "Close to it, yeah. And it felt damn good, for your information. Is that all?"

Her apathy made his stomach flutter.

"Yes and no. The team is down one man, so go with them tonight. In and out, no mess, no fuss. Got it, pumpkin?"

"Sure thing," Edith replied, and as she moved past him, her words floated over her shoulder. He could practically taste her smile. "I think I prefer it when you call me baby girl."

* * *

><p>They all sat quietly in the van outside an abandoned storage facility in Avenue X, six of them in total. Spade was driving the semi. It was night, close to ten, and most of the lackeys had changed out of their blood-stained clothes. Streaks of dried, clotted blood still graced their skin. The street was dark and mostly deserted; a few prostitutes ambled up the road near the busier intersection. Ahead of them, the semi turned the corner and found its spot in front of the van. Headlights went off, and they went to action. <em>No mess, no fuss<em>. They were to move half the oil drums into this building, set up the radio, and then move to the 52nd Street location to do the same thing.

It took nearly an hour and a half to move twenty barrels inside, and they still needed to situate them around the explosives that had been wired before their arrival.

"You guys head over to 52nd," Edith said. "I can roll these into place and set up the radio. By the time we're both done, we can test and make sure the radio works."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Charlie admitted. "Guess you're more than just a pair of spread legs after all, huh?"

The men laughed, but Spade smacked him in the back of the head. "Watch your mouth, Charlie. Stop wasting time. Let's get moving."

Edith gave Charlie a sickening sweet smile and a view of her middle finger as they left. When she heard the engines roar to life, she grabbed one of the heavy drums and made sure the lid was secure before pushing it over. It clamored to the ground, the noise vibrating in her toes as she rolled it into position. By the time she finished with each barrel, she was drenched in sweat and her hair was salty and slick along her brow. An old, rickety chair was in the middle of the room, and she began to set up the two-way radio underneath it. Turning it on, she was greeted by static.

"You guys done yet?" She asked aloud. "Hello?"

A crackle and a voice. It was Spade.

"Eddie, you there?"

"Yeah. I can hear you perfectly. Looks like we're good."

"Alright, see you in thirty."

Edith went to shut off the radio, but movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She nearly gasped in surprise at the sight of his shadowed body standing in the doorway. With a hand to her chest, she released an adrenaline-filled breath.

"Don't bother, Spade. Boss is here."

"Did I scare you, baby girl?"

"Yes," Edith admitted, watching as the Joker stepped fully from the shadows, revealing fresh greasepaint. "We blowing this place up soon?"

His eyes scanned the oil drums around him. He licked his left scar, humming in approval at her work.

"_Soooon_," he repeated. He looked to her. "You think more about your oppor_tu_ni_ty_, hm?"

"A little. Waiting for some inspiration, I guess you could say."

He chewed his scars, mulling over her words as he swaggered past the oil drums. He ran a gloved hand over one of the lids, caressing the metal.

"People like us, we gotta make our own inspiration in this city."

He was soon in front of her, and the weight of his hands as he set them on her shoulders made her feel like melted putty. "You can't wait for Gotham to give you what you need," he purred. "You have to just, _take it_."

"Why are you here?" she asked. Her voice was lower than she intended, her brain fogged by the pungent scent of gasoline that clung to his clothes. "Are you spying on me?"

Laughter, sharp and painful, erupted from his painted mouth, the sound slicing through the quiet like a knife. It startled her out of her haze.

"_Whoooo_ do I look like, pumpkin - the _Bat_man? If I felt the need to _spy_ on you, you'd already be dead."

With one arm wrapped around her shoulder, he guided her away from the oil drums and out the door. The sedan sat along the curb, and there were three men squished into the back. As she Edith slipped into the passenger seat, the clown quickly introduced them as _fresh meat_. One of them, a portly man with messy brown hair, was crying and muttering to himself, and the other two were clearly uncomfortable because of it. The Joker settled himself into the car and started the engine before turning to face the sputtering, pitiful man behind him.

"_Shushshsh_, remember what I told you?"

The crying softened. "Like Christmas?"

"_Exactly_," the clown replied. The gentleness in his voice was almost frightening. "Those voices of yours will be replaced with _bright lights_, Kilson." He sat forward, hands gripping the wheel tightly as he drove them away from the storage facility.

"Just. Like. _Christmas_."

* * *

><p>"You know, for a guy that doesn't plan, you sure are organized."<p>

Edith sat on the edge of his bed, clutching a blanket around her naked body and biting into a piece of cold pizza from the box the goons had gotten the previous night. She watched him as he dressed, smiling at the nail marks she had left on his back only an hour earlier. It was almost three in the afternoon, and Dent's press conference would be starting in fifteen minutes.

"Don't insult me," the Joker scoffed in response. He buttoned the hexagon shirt up to his throat and began to fiddle with his tie. "I don't have any _plans_. I just have _fun_. Do you remember your par_t_?"

Edith rolled her eyes, reciting his instructions. "If the cops catch you tonight, make sure Kilson is caught too. Hard to forget after what you did last night."

The clown chuckled as he buttoned his vest and sat beside her. "You didn't like my _show_?" he asked, flipping the TV on to the local news.

"Believe it or not, watching you play surgeon and shove a phone into a guy's gut isn't what I usually have planned for a Friday night."

"Good thing it's only, ah, Wednesday. Now, _shush_."

He turned the TV volume up to an obnoxious level as the local reporter greeted her viewers; the sidewalk around her was filled with spectators and anti-Batman protestors.

"_Good afternoon, Gotham. I am outside Gotham City Hall, and we are all anxiously awaiting for District Attorney, Harvey Dent, to begin the press conference where he will address the terrorism that has plagued our city. Many people have put blame on the Batman, believing his unwillingness to reveal himself has been the sole motivation for the Joker's attacks._" She paused, her hand on her ear piece. "_Dent has approached the podium. We bring you inside to hear him firsthand._"

The screen changed instantly. The blonde DA stood behind the podium above the crowd, his hands gripping the wooden edges. He cleared his throat, and the Joker rested his elbows on his knees, dark eyes fixed.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I've called this press conference for two reasons. Firstly, to reassure the citizens of Gotham that everything that can be done in regards to the Joker killings is being done."_ Angry whispers erupted from the crowd. _"Secondly, because the Batman has offered to turn himself in, but first, let's consider the situation. Should we give in to this terrorist's demands? Do we really think that -"_

The Joker chuckled. Edith shushed him.

_"You'd rather protect an outlaw vigilante than the lives of citizens?"_

_"The Batman is an outlaw," _Dent replied, _"but that's not why we're demanding he turn himself in. We're doing it because we're scared. We've been happy to let the Batman clean up our streets until now."_

_"Things are worse than ever!"_

_"Yes, they are. But the night is darkest just before the dawn, ladies and gentleman, and I promise, the dawn is coming. One day, the Batman will need to answer for his crimes, but to us. Not to this madman."_

_"NO MORE DEAD COPS!"_

The crowd erupted once more in agreement, angry voices demanding that the Batman turn himself in. The camera remained on Dent, whose face fell in sadness and disappointment. He looked away and mumbled something to someone off screen. He took a stance by the podium and did something unexpected. Edith's jaw dropped to the floor as she watched the cops put him in cuffs. He outed himself as the Batman.

_Where the hell is Bruce?_ she thought. _That fucking coward._

With her eyes on the screen, she listened to the Joker as he paced the room, his phone to his ear. His voice was low and crisp, almost professional.

"Get me the information on where they are taking him. I'm assuming MCU, and I want details on the route. Do not call unless you have the information, capeesh?" Ending the call, he turned to Edith. "Get ready. Full get up tonight. I want everyone at the Hyams van in twenty minutes."

He was so excited. Despite his lack of smile, Edith could see and practically _feel_ the glee that radiated from him. It was actually endearing, and despite their blossoming, severely dysfunctional "relationship", she couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth.

She had crossed her heart, after all.


End file.
